Heaven's So Far Away
by megsamadhi
Summary: He could feel her fingers softly tracing the mark on his arm. He hated that she was touching him there. He wanted to be more to her than that decision had made of him. He wanted more choices than it had allowed him. He wanted her. Draco/Hermione. COMPLETE.
1. Raw Magic

Dear readers,

I have worked on this story for the past six years. In that time, it has been loved, neglected, rekindled, revised, and (at last) finished. Yes, finished. Twenty-five chapters. 52,543 words, to be exact. I refused to allow myself to post the first chapter until the last had been written. Thank you all for reading, and for your dedication to Dramione after all these years.

~Megan

* * *

_**"There are much older and stronger forces at work in the world than a Dark Lord, Harry Potter.  
There is an unsleeping power too raw to be enslaved by a single cause.  
Magic itself is as deep and as old as the earth, and so, tied to it."**_

_**-Firenze, Hogwarts Professor of Divination**_

The Earth was angry, it seemed. _Magic_ was angry. It was very rare for human creatures to see raw magic. Earth magic is what it was called in the dusty tomes now strewn across the Hogwart's library. Shredded pages rustled amongst the broken glass… the broken furniture… the broken bodies that lay there, oblivious to the screaming.

It had started with the rain. As the battle raged throughout the school and the grounds, it had begun to rain. Hexes were dodged; curses deflected into the sodden ground beneath students and Death Eaters alike. Horrible curses from the Elder Wand and others had rent open the earth as the Dark Lord and his followers carved through the mass of human resistance. The Earth suffered its wounds and slowly reabsorbed the magic of the dead.

Unnoticed by those fighting and dying, a storm had come down upon them. The sky was unnaturally black, and the torrential rain was whipped about carelessly by the strong winds.

There was something strange happening in the Forbidden Forest and in the Lake – the creatures within were stirred suddenly in a way they could not describe. The Earth had been scarred and torn in ways that seemed impossible to repair, and it was reacting. The only way to stop the damage being done was to remove those inflicting it. And so the creatures' minds and hearts were turned against the humans destroying each other and the world around themselves.

A great cry arose from within the school – a cry of triumph and relief – for a single boy had just defeated one of humanity's great foes. For precious minutes loved ones were held close and comforted one another. Professor McGonagall, however, had never been one to linger over either happy moments or sad, and quickly took stock of their surroundings.

Night was surely closing in by now and the abnormally violent storm outside was growing stronger. The high winds blowing through the broken panes had made even the joyous scene seem chaotic, and thunder had long ago begun to sound like enormous boulders splitting and crumbling around them. She had seen the weather affected by magic before, of course – on a microscopic scale. If her instincts were correct about this storm, they needed to leave. Now. Her very presence demanding order, McGonagall shouted above the winds, her 'sonorus' sounding eerily like the earlier broadcasts of Voldemort. The nearly 100 survivors finally took in the ferocity of the storm, and began moving at a panicked run toward the Room of Requirement and, it seemed, the only safe way out of Hogwarts.

As the magic of Voldemort was reabsorbed into the Earth, a spine-chilling sound rose up and filled the air around them. It was a chorus of screeching and wailing, of snarling and shouting. From among the group of survivors, a horrible, strangled scream emerged from Firenze and he fell to the ground. His muscular legs began to kick out in all directions, and his hooves scraped menacingly against the stone. His face twisted desperately toward McGonagall.

"They…are coming!" he ground out as he panted, fighting to control his thrashing movements and failing.

"All the beasts… coming!" he gasped for air "… kill you if they can!"

After this last bit, he became still, breathing deeply. He seemed to master himself and rose upon his sturdy legs. But his face was all wrong. It was frightening. His eyes gleamed and he smiled maliciously as he began slow, deliberate paces toward the wary survivors. In a barely audible growl he addressed them.

"_Kill you... kill..."_

* * *

That death was hard on Harry too, but then he should have been accustomed to death by now. Firenze had saved him once from the cloaked shadow that stalked him in the Forbidden Forest. Now he lay twisted and broken upon the floor. He should have died as a friend fighting by his side. No… he should have lived. But now _they _were coming and this was no time to entertain memories of the dead.

It felt like suffocation. Too close together to breathe, but too scared to back out of the crush of flesh and sweat pressing desperately toward a single, small portrait hole. The shrieking of the creatures closing in on them was becoming louder.

Draco Malfoy, despite his panic, stood away from the crowd beside McGonagall and Potter, somehow frantically confident that the old woman could provide a solution for their escape. He had only ever seen determination on her face. Now he beheld fear.

He heard her whisper to herself.

"We cannot get out…. too fast… it's just too fast… we'll die here."

The last line was said with such certainty that he looked to Potter, whose eyes darted to the screaming crowd.

Weasley was a blur as he ran past Draco with a face full of terror and latched onto Potter's arm, trying to pull him away from the mob.

"Go! We've got to get out of here – this is where they'll come!"

Draco watched Potter fight him off, still searching for something as Weasley left him.

Potter was beginning to look frantic.

"Ginny!" he shouted.

Malfoys, above all things, were survivors. And so when Draco sprung toward the head of shining red hair, he told himself that with McGonagall overcome, Potter was his escape plan. If Potter wouldn't leave without the girl, he needed to get her to him now. Shoving roughly through the crowd, he reached an arm around her waist. When he saw a bushy-haired brunette crushed into the crowd several feet away, he fought his way to her too. Reaching his other arm around her, he bent his knees and hurtled himself backwards with all his might. He landed badly, both of the girls tumbling down upon him.

Harry rushed forward and took a dazed Ginny into his arms, while offering a hand up to Hermione. He looked past them to where Malfoy had struggled to his feet and gave the would-be rescuer a shocked stare.

"We're even, Potter. Now get us out of here."

* * *

"Where are you taking us?" Ginny demanded as she was pulled down a hallway toward a set of stairs.

"I've got an idea," Harry responded.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked, jogging up next to him.

"I don't know," Harry said darkly.

"Your boyfriend was too fucking scared to wait," Draco spat. "He didn't even go for his own flesh and blood," he said looking ahead of him at Ginny.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione shouted in a hurt voice, "Why are you even following us?"

"I'm not stupid, Granger. We weren't all going to make it through that portrait hole and Potter here seems to know another way out."

"I don't!" Potter said in frustration, stopping in a dark alcove.

"Then what's the fucking brilliant idea you had?" He asked angrily. That they could hear the stamping of the creatures' feet meant they were certainly inside the castle, or nearly there.

"Kreacher!" Harry called out, looking viciously back at Draco.

A faint pop was heard before a cowering house elf appeared before Harry.

"Master?"

"Kreacher, I need you to apparate us out of here. Take us to the Burrow. Start with the girls. You can…"

"Kreacher is sorry Master. Kreacher has tried. Kreacher cannot even apparate to the grounds. Only in the castle. Something is blocking the house elves."

Suddenly from behind them came screaming. Blaise Zabini, Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom and Terry Boot were running frantically up the stairs pursued by at least a dozen beasts of all kinds.

"Shit! Then apparate us somewhere safe! Now!"

Just as Harry had barked 'now' the elf disappeared with Ginny and Hermione, and the group began to run up flights of stairs, trying to get to higher ground away from the flood of creatures trying to kill them. Looking behind him, Draco could see three centaurs bearing down on them. The entire group visibly cringed when they heard agonized screaming coming from the direction they had left minutes before. People were dying. There was nothing they could do. Lavender and Blaise were rescued next, leaving four of them running for their lives. The four of them were spread too far apart. Kreacher would have to take them one at a time now.

"Harry! Help!"

It was Neville. He was certainly the slowest of the group and was dangerously close to being trampled by the beasts. Not far behind the centaurs were two thestrals, their movements surprisingly nimble. These, the fastest of the beasts, blocked the view of countless others that followed in their wake… spiders, manticores, nundus, griffins, erlkings, red caps, trolls, owls... all of them united in their purpose.

"Impedimenta!"

"Stupefy!"

"Levicorpus!"

There was a terrible danger of hitting the boys behind him, but without stopping to turn around, it was all Harry could do. Another 'pop' effectively silenced Neville's cries for help.

"They aren't even slowing down!" Terry Boot exclaimed. "They're not even tired!"

It was the first chance Draco had to recognize the burning in his lungs and the fatigue quickly overcoming his legs. But hallways inevitably ended in stairwells and down meant more of _them_. So they went up. And up.

After the 'pop' that signified Terry's rescue, relief began to wash over Draco. _Just a minute longer_, he thought to himself. _I'll be next – no more running_. And it was with only a few feet separating him from his pursuers. _Soon_, he encouraged himself, _just keep running – it's just a little farther_.

'Pop.' But he was still running.

"Fuck!" That bloody house elf had taken Potter! Suddenly a single thought came crashing down upon him. What if he didn't come back? What if Potter told him not to come back? It was bad business, wasn't it? Bringing a Death Eater into whatever safe place was left in Hogwarts. He felt sick. After everything – after surviving sixth year, after being tortured by Voldemort for his failure, after his father's displeasure and his mother's fear, after the final battle, for fuck's sake, and keeping both sides from killing him – he was going to die. He could see his mother's face – hear her voice telling him to keep safe at all costs.

"_Someone will win this war, Draco," _she had whispered to him before he left for school. "_And someone will lose. Always be careful, my son. Make sure you will be taken in no matter who succeeds."_

He knew he couldn't run much longer, and Boot was right. _They _weren't getting tired. He was closing in on the end of another hallway and that would mean stairs. He just couldn't do it. He felt the breath of an angry thestral upon his shoulder and closed his eyes before blacking out.

* * *

"_I am sorry, my love, if I am not here when this war is over."_

"_Mother don't be foolish,"_ he remembered saying harshly. He wanted her to stop talking about this.

"_When can I tell you these things if not now?" _

Her voice had sounded so sad – so resigned. The manor had long been a headquarters for Voldemort, and the Malfoys had become increasingly _unnecessary_. When her husband's wand was taken by the Dark Lord, she had begun to put their affairs in order for Draco, fearing that she and Lucius would soon become martyrs for the Dark Side.

"_Draco, no matter what happens to us, there is a battle coming. Fight for the people who will protect you, no matter their side. I need to know you'll be safe. Promise me."_

It was a goodbye. What could he say if she was telling him goodbye? He couldn't bring himself to say what he had meant to. He couldn't tell her he was sorry for every tear shed on his behalf, every fear realized as her son accepted a life that would surely mean death. He had realized too late that the mark carved into his flesh meant an existence plagued by fear and loss. He simply didn't _hate_ the way the rest of them seemed to. The blood that stained the floors of the manor had changed him. He remembered all their names – their faces. There were Death Eaters who had angered the Dark Lord scattered in with the Mudbloods. They had all pleaded for their lives as he was made to watch, and their blood all looked the same to him.

He looked into his Mother's pleading eyes, and he couldn't promise to be alive at the end of all things any more than she could.

* * *

Pain. It overwhelmed him. He was bleeding somewhere inside – he could _taste_ it. But… had he survived then? Had the creatures attacked him and then left him for dead? He tried to look around but his vision was blurred and his head was thudding dully in rhythm with his pulse – he must have hit it somehow. He took a deep breath to regain equilibrium, but Gods! that was painful – as though someone had stabbed him in the back. Suddenly the blood was blocking his air flow and coughed desperately, bringing up more.

"Anapneo."

"...G..Granger?" He wheezed, shocked that she, of all people, was next to him. The blood was gone from his airway.

"Malfoy, don't try to move, alright?" She said softly.

"…Can't breathe," he choked out, "…stabbing… stabbing in my back…"

He needed to stop talking. He was sure it was making things worse. He could hear muffled voices beside him.

"_You're the best chance he's got…"_

"_I could kill him if I tried!"_

"_He'll die if you don't do something_._"_

Silence.

"Merlin help me," Hermione whispered to herself before kneeling at his side. "Harry, help me turn him on his side. Malfoy, I'm really sorry – this will hurt."

With a tormented scream as her only assurance, Hermione said the words she hoped were mending his broken ribs, pulling them from the lung tissue she suspected they had punctured.

Blood. A lot of it. It was filling his mouth and air way again. Hermione inhaled sharply as it trickled from his mouth into a pool on the floor. His breathing had become raspy and gurgled.

"Anapneo," she said, sounding much shakier this time.

It took her a full minute of watching his impassive face to convince herself she hadn't killed him – that he had only blacked out from the pain. Setting to work once more, she nervously spoke the words that she had only ever read about, hoping and praying that she had diagnosed him correctly, and that she was healing and not hurting him.


	2. How it Hurts

**Chapter 2  
**  
**How it Hurts**

In the brief glimpses Kreacher had caught during the transfers, he said he had seen how close they had all come to death. Malfoy, now stabilized, was obviously the closest call. Kreacher said he'd seen Malfoy's eyes close just before a threstral reared and pinned him to the stone floor with a single hoof.

"Kreacher heard the crack of bones before he brought him back. Kreacher was almost stepped on too." The elf was very obviously disgruntled.

"Thank you, Kreacher – for everything," Harry said, looking up to see Ginny next to him pale, but unharmed. He turned to see Hermione on his other side, tending a deathly-still Draco Malfoy. He glanced behind him and saw that Blaise Zabini was looking with horror upon his fellow Slytherin, while Terry and Neville seemed to be suffering from some form of shock. Lavender had her knees hugged to her chest and was sobbing gently into her hands. He passed a hand over his eyes and tried to imagine where Ron could possibly be. Why couldn't it be him here in a safe place instead of Malfoy or Zabini?

"Is everyone alright?" Harry asked.

Blaise was the only one who seemed to notice he had spoken. He looked at Harry with a haunted expression, that for a moment reminded him of how Firenze had looked as he fought off… whatever it was that had taken hold of him.

"What do _you_ think, Potter?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Where are we anyway?"

At that question, they began to look around. It was a large area, certainly, but without the echoes of a vast hall. It was cold and incredibly dark. Harry realized suddenly that he alone was holding his wand aloft – the 'lumos' he had muttered earlier providing the only light in this windowless place.

"We are in the kitchens, Master," Kreacher said, shuffling around slowly, trying to clear the area around the group of broken dishes and debris.

"But… can't they find us here?"

"Master says a safe place. There is no one here now," Kreacher said.

"Right."

Harry was just so tired. They couldn't still be in danger. They just _couldn't_. Without realizing it, he had sunk to the ground in a slump. He could hear Ginny's voice, but couldn't focus on her words.

What the hell had happened just now? His whole life had led up to this point. His. Whole. Life. And they had won, hadn't they? Everything was wrong. This entire milestone in his existence was completely screwed up. He groaned, feeling as though he was slipping backwards into blackness. It was Ginny's hand in his that brought him back. Slowly, deliberately, his mind latched on to that contact as a lifeline. She was kneeling in front of him, eyes desperate for a connection, as unintentional tears fell across her fair skin.

"Sorry, Gin," he whispered, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. "We'll be alright."

It was surreal for the Slytherin standing close by to see them hold on to each other. The Boy Who Lived was really just human after all. He tensed when the Granger girl moved unexpectedly. When he saw her pull out her wand and begin muttering what sounded like complex shield charms and other wards, he felt grateful for the opportunity to do something. He moved to what he guessed was the entrance to the place and began to cast a series of complex booby-trapping spells and other protections that a girl raised by 'the light side' probably wouldn't have thought of. But there was only so much to be done before they would all have to speak to each other again, and no one was eager to ground them in this new reality.

Hermione broke the silence first, sitting next to Lavender and comforting her. It took nearly ten minutes to calm the girl. By that time, Neville and Terry were showing signs of coherence as well.

"Shhh," Hermione soothed, "We'll be alright now."

"…You d-didn't _see_ them!" Lavender hiccoughed.

"We all did, Lavender," Hermione said in a calming voice, "They can't hurt us now."

"W-what happened to them?" She asked in a pained voice.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "It was like they were bewitched. Most of those creatures aren't violent by nature. I even recognized a few that were Hagrid's friends."

"Oh, gods Hermione!" Lavender sobbed. "They w-wouldn't even l-listen to him. They all _knew_ him… they _t-trusted _him! What would make them _do _that?"

Hermione felt sick. _Not Hagrid too…_ she thought to herself. She felt the tears sting at her eyes, threatening to fall. It was all too much. How many people had died? Were they the only ones left in all of Hogwarts? Where was Ron? She gave in, crying silently with Lavender as Neville reached out a hand and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Nearly two hours of grieving and soft, halted conversation had followed their chaotic appearance in the kitchens. Two hours of holding on to each other just to feel something that didn't hurt. Two hours of theories, of impromptu eulogies for the suspected dead, of wasted ideas that were meant to answer 'what now?'

When everyone was too weary to continue, they all lay close together on blankets and towels Kreacher had managed to find throughout the kitchens, and lit candles in order to keep their wands close at hand.

She dreamt of Ron that night. It was a strange sort of dream. It was one of the nights they had all spent in that well-worn tent. She was curled over the book of children's stories given to her by Dumbledore, Harry kept watch outside, and Ron was across from her sprawled listlessly in a chair. He kept looking over at her – she could feel it. Finally looking up, she caught him. He didn't look away. They sat looking at each other for a moment before she asked, "What?" irritably. It was her turn to wear the locket. She couldn't be expected to be pleasant. He shrugged and looked away again. It was an odd sort of thing to remember. The dream changed. They were in a little house of their own with muggle appliances all around. Everything began to happen at once. It started with the stove setting fire to one of the kitchen towels. Before she could get to the sink for water, the refrigerator lurched over in front of her, food spilling onto the floors. She could hear the telephone begin to ring frantically, and the kettle on the open flames whistling angrily. Shelves around her began to break, sending dishes crashing onto the floor around her. She looked up fearfully for Ron, and saw that he was still sprawled across the chair. Again, he looked back at her and shrugged before looking away. Suddenly she felt as though she would suffocate. There were people all around her pushing - screaming. They were all trying to get away from something, and she was caught in the middle of it all, struggling to breathe. Looking around desperately for help, she spotted Ron, and she felt hopeful. She saw him run toward Harry before taking one last backwards glance and shrugging. This time he was gone.

She woke up with tears in her eyes, trying to push away the traitorous thoughts of Ron abandoning her when she needed him most. She was terrified to think of how she felt about him now. She had put off the feeling of dread through most of the past year. Their extended time together had shown him to be a good person and a loyal friend, and she had always remembered feeling _something_ for him. But as his attentions toward her had increased, she felt her affections wane. She couldn't understand it, mentally scolding herself again and again for feeling… _nothing_ in return. She blamed it on the stress of their situation. She couldn't possibly be expected to feel anything romantic while they were hunting down Voldemort's soul, for Heaven's sake!

She had felt so relieved when she could see the end of it all in sight; she had kissed him, trying desperately to ignite some deep-buried feeling. The kiss she blamed on herself. She must have been trying too hard to truly enjoy the way a kiss – a _first kiss_ – should feel. Yes, she could have continued to convince herself that she still loved him underneath it all until she saw his face as he fled. It was as though that single expression had made her lose the will to try to love him. But whether she was relieved or angry or determined to hold on… she couldn't yet tell.

Beside her, she heard Malfoy groan softly in his sleep and turned her attention toward him, grateful for the distraction.

* * *

Draco awoke long after the others had fallen asleep when he felt a small hand close around his wrist. He kept his eyes closed, trying to assess his condition, and felt relieved to be breathing sorely, but easily.

Trying not to betray his awareness, Draco peered through his lashes at the figure next to him. It was Granger. He could see her face drawn in concentration, and he could feel her softly running her fingers over the Mark on his arm. He hated that she was touching him there. It was a reminder of every horror up to this moment. It made him feel responsible, somehow, for everything that had happened to them.

"Not there, Granger," he said in an unsteady voice, his hand reaching over and stilling hers.

"You're awake!" she said, unable to mask her surprise. Then she looked down to her hand, still covered by his.

"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?" she asked gently.

"Not the way you think," he said taking his first deep breath since the battle had begun.

Reaching up, he could feel a gauzy material wrapped around his head. He looked at the girl next to him and remembered her terrified face as she knelt beside him trying to stop the blood flowing from his nose and mouth. She looked back at him, meeting his gaze.

It would be nice to thank her for everything, he thought. She had saved his life after all. It was a nice thought.

"Any permanent damage, then, Granger?" he drawled, his tone making it clear that he neither wanted nor needed assurance from her.

He knew she didn't mean for it to show, but he saw it flicker across her face. Disappointment.

"Your lung was nearly collapsed so you won't be able to run marathons any time soon. And you've got a gash above your right eye that will need some time to heal."

"That's bloody brilliant," he said dryly, "I've always wanted a fucking scar on my forehead."

She couldn't help but laugh, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

"It isn't funny," he said, sounding genuinely irritated by her mirth. "It's another damned mark I have to live with for the rest of my life."

Hermione stopped laughing immediately, taken aback by the statement. Had he just said _a__nother damned mark…? _Something he had to live with? His tone, if nothing else, made it sound as though the Dark Mark was a burden… a regret. Could he have meant that?

It was completely unintentional, her hand going back to rest upon his forearm. She hadn't really known what had drawn her to trace her fingers over it the first time. She had thought something so inherently tied to dark magic would feel… different. But she had been startled to feel the warmth of his skin. The mark itself had a certain texture to it, but his skin had been _soft_. There was nothing at all sinister or evil in the way he felt, and something had welled up inside of her at the sight of his sleeping face in the candlelight. He had looked troubled… worried, even. And terribly sad. It was the kind of look reserved for a loved one. He had told her the mark didn't hurt the way she thought. And she realized it as they were looking at each other. She knew how it hurt. The tone of his voice was enough to make her believe he had wanted a different life. Her hand had found its way back to the source of that pain, and she softly traced her fingers across his skin.

"Granger…" he said, looking uncomfortable. He pulled his left arm out of her grasp before gingerly turning on his side, away from her. "Get some sleep."

* * *

The first time she touched him, he had wanted her to stop. That damned mark was all he'd ever be to these people, he remembered thinking. Then he had told her the one thing he wasn't sure he was ready for anyone to hear. He hadn't even said the words, but the way she reacted made him sure she had heard it in his voice. He didn't want it. None of it. He was done with that life.

He waited for her to say something predictable and oh-so-Gryffindor. He waited for her to change the subject, ignoring the slip completely. He waited for anything… anything that would leave him free to fall into the old role of her enemy.

But against all logic, she had touched him again, and it had felt different this time. She looked at him thoughtfully while tracing her fingers across his skin. In some ways, it was the most intimate touch he could remember feeling in almost two years. She knew the one thing about him that no one else suspected. That made her dangerous. And it made him vulnerable. She still hadn't taken her hand from his arm.

She needed to stop.

He needed to stop her.

There was something about the way she was looking at him that made him hesitate… something that made him want to stay like this just a while longer. But whatever it felt like to be understood, to be unburdened, he didn't need it from _her._

"Granger…" he said, turning away from her, "get some sleep."


	3. Volunteers

**Chapter 3**

**Volunteers**

The new day brought no new hope. Whichever way Harry turned the situation, nothing got them to safety. They couldn't safely explore the castle, and they certainly couldn't apparate out of it. Under Voldemort's influence, Harry was sure every Floo connection had been blocked. Most of the occupants of the portraits had fled their frames. He hoped with all of his might that the Room of Requirement had been left intact. Ariana's portrait could very well be their _only_ hope of escape, but even then, what waited for them in Hogsmede?

He sighed and shook his head, finally sitting up on his blankets. The others were beginning to stir too, and he could only dread the discussion they would be having shortly.

* * *

Draco was the last to wake. He could hear the others in a heated debate, and sat up, confused for a moment why it was still so dark. He looked up to see the candles flickering against the windowless stone walls and remembered where they were.

"It _has_ to be during the day," Terry was imploring the group. "It just makes the most sense. What if we got to Hogsmeade in the dead of night? We wouldn't know if it had been attacked!"

"Do you really think we won't be able to tell a place that's been attacked in _any_ light?" asked Blaise sarcastically. "D'you think all the animals have hidden themselves cleverly inside _undamaged_ houses just waiting to surprise us?"

"We won't be able to see at night!" Terry continued.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, look around Terry," said the she-weasel rolling her eyes and gesturing to the gaping darkness they had been in for the past 24 hours. "It's the daylight that'll make us squint now."

"Harry…" Neville spoke up a bit nervously, "I don't think these things _sleep_. How will we get all the way back to the Room of Requirement without them seeing us?"

"We've got to hope they _do_ sleep, mate," Blaise said.

"Before we do anything, we need more information," Hermione said authoritatively. "We should send out a small scouting party to see if the Room of Requirement can still get us into Hogsmede… and to see if they _do_ sleep."

Malfoy laughed from his position on the floor.

"So if the scouts don't come back…" he said with a smirk, "It'll make things pretty clear."

"What could possibly be funny about any of this, Malfoy?" Harry asked narrowing his eyes at him.

"I'm just going bloody mad," he said, standing up and walking over to the group. "This fucking war was supposed to be over by now. I'm laughing because it's a crap position to be in after everything – just feels like a nightmare fucking around with us."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking relieved that someone else was taking this as badly as he was.

"How long have you been at this?" he asked incredulously, indicating the debate circle.

People in the circle mumbled and shifted uncomfortably.

"And the only option here is the Room of Requirement? Really?"

"If you'd given _any_ thought to the matter, Malfoy, maybe you'd be more qualified to join in here, but as you haven't…" Harry replied impatiently.

"Has anyone tried to send a patronus?"

He watched everyone freeze in place. Potter was clearly kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner, and scowled at him.

Granger was already lifting her wand, when Potter interrupted her.

"Go on then, Malfoy."

* * *

Harry was being cruel. It _was _a good idea. Better than good. She had been ready to cast her own patronus when he'd called Malfoy out. He _must_ know that Malfoy couldn't produce a patronus – only members of the DA had ever been taught how. Harry was doing this just to humiliate him.

She watched Malfoy level his gaze at Harry.

"I haven't had many happy memories lately, Potter," he spat.

"Who here has?" Harry countered. "It was your idea. Try it."

Hermione wished she could intervene, but she knew that neither side would thank her. It surprised her to realize that she didn't want Malfoy to lose face in front of so many people. Perhaps after working so hard to save his life, she still felt protective. Whatever the reason, she wished that Harry wasn't doing this. She wondered briefly what form Malfoy's patronus would take if he were able to produce one. A dragon? A scorpion? A snake?

She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't seen Malfoy raise his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!" he called out into the silence.

Everyone gasped and jumped as strands of silver shot from the tip of his wand. Hermione watched, dumbfounded, as they took on a substantial form. He hadn't conjured a dragon or a snake or anything close. A gleaming blackbird was soaring smoothly away from them. A _blackbird_ of all things, she thought. They all watched in shock as it reached the far wall of the kitchens before flickering and then disappearing altogether, just like the flame of a candle snuffed out.

"That shouldn't have happened," Draco said firmly, staring at the place it had disappeared. "The memory was strong."

"Expecto Patronum," Harry shouted. His stag, too, flickered and disappeared at the edge of the kitchens.

The small group stared miserably at the far wall as their hope faded once more.

"What kind of magic can dissolve a patronus like that?" asked Blaise, numbly.

"Earth magic," Harry said. "Raw magic. Professor Firenze knew about it. All the Centaurs did."

Silence hung over the group like a heavy gloom.

"Back to the scouting party, then," Draco said.

"Looks that way," Harry muttered grimly.

The sound of broken glass being pushed across the floor startled them all, and they turned to see Kreacher sweeping the kitchen floors.

No one said it – not right away – but it hung in the air before them, ripe with possibility, until Blaise shifted his weight, and gestured toward the elf.

"Everyone's thinking it," he said. "Better him than us…"

Everyone's eyes snapped to Hermione, awaiting the inevitable outburst his comment would cause. None of them expected it to come from Harry.

"No," Harry said, in a voice that was deadly serious. All he could picture was Dobby, lying on the ground as he took his last breaths… he would be damned if he let that happen again.

"I will not let another creature die for something I could have done myself. I'll go."

"Bloody noble of you Potter," Draco said, his tone only slightly sarcastic. "I'll go with you. I want to see what we're up against."

"No!" said Terry forcefully.

"You volunteering then?" Blaise demanded, looking angry. "You don't exactly strike me as the type who risks his life for others."

"Malfoy will kill Harry the second his back is turned," Terry said accusingly. "It wouldn't be the first time he's attacked Harry when his back was turned!"

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously at him, and he looked suddenly nervous.

"He's not going to kill-" Harry started before Draco cut him off.

"No, he's right. I've got the fucking membership card right here, haven't I?" he said, yanking his sleeve back to reveal the Dark Mark.

"What then, Boot?" he asked in a voice that was dangerously calm. "After I've killed Potter, what's my next move?"

"How would I know?" he shot back defensively. "You'd probably run back to your side. And then you'd tell them you killed Harry Potter! Even You-Know-Who couldn't do that! You'd be some kind of Death Eater hero or something!"

"Fucking hell," he said. "That's a brilliant fucking plan. Let's go Potter – I'll walk behind you."

He saw Potter roll his eyes.

"You can't seriously be thinking of taking him with you!" Terry persisted. "Harry…"

"Give it a rest," Harry said wearily. "We won't leave until tomorrow after sunrise – that should give him plenty of time to try to kill me before we set out."


	4. Careful Enough

**Chapter 4**

**Careful Enough**

No one had any thoughts of sleep that night. Too much hung on the hours that were creeping slowly toward them.

The relative darkness, combined with the soft glow of candles seemed to set the scene. Harry and Ginny had broken away from the group without a candle and were… not talking. Blaise had somehow started up a conversation with Lavender and had even managed to drape an arm across her tentatively smiling form. Draco watched as Blaise and Lavender flirted at the other end of the kitchens. She giggled and blushed, leaning into him. He could hear Potter and Weaselette's sharp intakes of breath coming from the distant darkness on his left.

He was sitting next to Granger, who had just checked his healing wounds. The air around them was cool and damp from the storm they suspected was still raging outside.

"Your wounds have mostly healed, but your lung will be weaker than usual for a while."

"I can handle a little soreness," he said, looking at her darkly.

"I never said you couldn't," she said, meeting his glare. "Just try to avoid running tomorrow – it could make it worse."

"No running for my life tomorrow – got it," he smirked, and was surprised to see her press her lips together in a reluctant smile.

"Be careful enough that you won't need to."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried about me, Granger."

"Perhaps I am."

He watched her blush as she seemed to realize what she had said, and felt his stomach jolt in response. She had just blushed for _him_. When was the last time someone had blushed like that in his presence? He had a moment's exhilaration before his subconscious clamped down on him.

_What's wrong with you? This is __**Granger**__. _

He looked back up and tried to put every negative feeling and unflattering image of her into the thought… _Granger…_ but all he could see were brown eyes and hair that tumbled softly past her shoulders. All the thought he could put into her name was her fingers tracing the mark on his arm. Merlin… what _was_ wrong with him?

"When did you learn how to conjure a patronus?" she asked, apparently unable to stand the awkward silence any longer.

Draco gave her a half-smirk, half-grimace.

"Fifth year. The year the Dementors were guarding the school. I tried to get Potter to pass out on his broom during a quidditch match, but..."

"…he sent his patronus after you," she finished, seeing it play out in her mind.

He nodded silently, looking away from her.

"I don't like my enemies having an advantage over me. I asked my mother to teach me," he said quietly.

They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.

"What form does her patronus take?"

Malfoy shot her a dangerous look.

"I didn't… it's just that my parents are Muggles. I wonder sometimes if my patronus would be like theirs if they could produce them."

"My mother said a patronus takes the form that best suits your personality. It wouldn't have mattered what your parents could produce."

She noticed he hadn't answered the question.

"Mine takes the form of an otter. I though yours would be-"

"A dragon?" he asked ruefully. "Imagine the look on my father's face, Granger, when he found out my personality suited a blackbird. I would have been grateful for anything even slightly threatening."

"I don't like dragons," she said simply. "I don't like anything that threatens me. I'm glad your patronus is a blackbird."

He shook his head and gave her half an eye-roll, but all he could think was _she didn't make fun of it._ He thought she would. He thought they would all have something to say about it. Instead, for the first time in his life, he was glad his patronus was a blackbird too.

* * *

The next morning felt just as damp and cold as the one before it, but this morning was different. Draco could feel the nervous energy around him pushing him closer and closer to the door. He and Potter would leave any moment now to face whatever was left of the school. Potter finished reading over some parchment he'd been scratching at before standing and looking around at each of the survivors as though to say goodbye. He walked quietly over to Ginny, who reached up and kissed him. Draco watched from his place by the door, and caught himself searching out Granger's face in the crowd. She was already looking at him. An image flashed into his mind of her reaching up to kiss him goodbye, and he looked away, agitated.

Everyone murmured their 'Hurry back's' and their 'Stay safe's' as they removed the protective spells from the door, and as they opened it, silence filled the room. It was now or never.

Draco thought those first steps would be the hardest to take, but they hadn't gotten easier by the time they reached the end of the corridor… or the top of the stairs. They paused there, feeling the weight of stepping from the close walls of the stairway into the vast, echoing entry hall beyond. It was dark, but Draco could see the shadowed forms of at least 30 creatures strewn across the wreckage and debris there. He could see their chests rising and falling as they slept. When he looked more closely, he could see the other forms too… the broken bodies of the dead. He focused his attention on the stairs at the other end of the entry hall, an impossible distance away. The silence was unnerving. He and Harry glanced at each other, but both seemed frozen in place, unsure whether to continue creeping along slowly or running full tilt until they found some place more sheltered.

Their goal was to get to the Room of Requirement. If the passage between the castle and Hogsmede was still intact, they had a chance of escape. If it wasn't… he didn't want to think of the open stretch of land that separated them from their best hope of apparation.

Twenty seconds had passed without either of them moving.

_Go_, he told himself, _just fucking go._

He began counting backward in his head, determined to make himself start, and was six panicked strides into the debris before he realized he had reached 'one.' Harry was beside him, moving just as silently, determinedly looking ahead to the distant stairs. Adrenaline and terror kept them both moving as Draco continued counting his steps… 13, 14, 15… they stepped carefully over the bodies of the dead, and edged around the sleeping forms of each creature in their path… 23, 24, 25, 26… they reached blood and could find no way around it… 31, 32… he kept counting his steps until the numbers were the only thing that filled his mind – not the bodies of people he had known most of his life – not the slumbering creatures who breathed out in soft growls every few seconds – not the blood soaking the bottoms of his shoes.

It took 54 steps to reach the stairs, and he didn't pause before beginning the climb to the second floor. There were fewer bodies here and even fewer creatures, but the smaller numbers didn't make them easier to pass. Most of the bodies here were face-down, which was oddly comforting to him. This was what death looked like in nightmares – faceless bodies strewn across a broken landscape. Draco had dreamt of death like this for so long now that it had lost most of its horror.

* * *

By the time they reached the fourth floor, the creatures had stopped appearing, but the bodies hadn't. It seemed the creatures preferred the lower floors for their rest. The dead lay where they had fallen. Without the terrorizing presence of the creatures, it was harder to walk past the bodies without recognizing them. Harry hadn't known everyone at Hogwarts. He hadn't even known everyone in his year. But he still recognized the faces of too many of the people they were passing. There was the girl with glasses who sat in the exact same spot at the Hufflepuff table morning after morning. There was the boy two years younger than him who had tried out for the Quidditch team, but couldn't fly. He felt crushed by guilt, looking down at these people whose names he didn't know, but forced himself to keep moving forward. He had saved nine. Nine people out of how many hundreds?

He passed another body, half-covered by a fallen suit of armor and started in shock. The face was completely hidden by the metal suit, but the hair… he had _red_ hair. _Gods, please don't be Ron_, he thought to himself. _Please… _

Malfoy had reached the next staircase, but turned back when he realized Harry had stopped. Looking up at him, all Harry could do was gesture toward the red hair. Malfoy shook his head in irritation, but positioned himself on the other side of the metal figure, ready to shift it in order to reveal the boy's face. Each of them grabbed a metal arm and lifted.

Relief flooded through Harry at once. He knew he shouldn't take relief in another's death, but all he could think was _it's not him_.

Then it happened. In poor shape to begin with, the armor's joint came undone at the shoulder. The crash of the metal upon the stone echoed mercilessly around them for a full five seconds before, four floors below, the crash was answered by growls, shrieks, bellows and howls – _they were awake._

It took a moment of sheer terror to realize that Malfoy was shouting at him.

"I KNOW the creatures are coming!" he shouted back.

"Not creatures! _KREACHER, you idiot_!" Malfoy bellowed at him.

"KREACHER!" Harry shouted, realizing his meaning.

An instant later, the house elf was in front of him. Kreacher's hand closed around his and he felt himself pulled into a moment of blackness.

* * *

He hadn't had to run for his life, but Draco was panting hard by the time they reached safety, and his newly-healed lung felt like it was on fire. He had a moment to look around the dark kitchens before everyone swarmed around them.

Ginny had thrown her arms around Harry.

"We heard them all wake up, and we thought…." she broke off, shaking her head.

Everyone shook Potter's hand or patted him on the back, as though reassuring themselves that he was real. Draco was surprised to have a few of the survivors pat him on the back too, but grimaced in pain for every friendly thump he received.

"It's bad out there," Harry said matter-of-factly. "And for all I can tell, we've just made it worse. They _did_ sleep during the day, but after the rude awakening they've just had…" he sighed and shook his head wearily. "We need a new plan, and we'll need it quickly. If they thought they had destroyed everyone in the castle, they've just been proven wrong, and even if they don't begin searching for us, I have a feeling there will be no getting past them now without fighting."

"I still say you sent a man to do an elf's job, Potter," Blaise cut in. "Send _him_ to the Room of Requirement, and he can-"

"I told you, I'm not-"

"How will you be getting there, then? You said yourself the only way through now is to fight, so unless you plan to run out, wands blazing, and reveal us all, you'll have to apparate with him anyhow. Send him alone and he can find out everything we need to know in three seconds without having to worry about keeping your sorry arse safe."

Draco could see several pairs of eyes silently pleading Blaise's point with Potter. It _did_ make more sense to let Kreacher go. He could get into the Room of Requirement and back before the creatures could even be sure of what they had seen. The fact that Potter hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand seemed to give it momentum with the others, and the number of pleading faces grew.

Potter shook his head once more out of irritation and said, "Fine. We'll send Kreacher, but not until things are calmer. We'll give it a day. The rest of today and all of tomorrow will be spent working out contingency plans in case the Room of Requirement isn't an option. The day after that – at midday – Kreacher will try."


	5. Secrets

**Chapter 5**

**Secrets**

Although it had sounded very impressive in his speech, the fact was that there was very little to discuss. There were so few options open to them that the time it took to write them down was simply depressing. Once they had 'adjourned,' Hermione went to Malfoy. The look on his face when they had come back told her she needed to look at his wounds again.

The first time she'd healed his wounds, all she had felt was panicked adrenaline coursing through her veins. This time, as she asked him to take his shirt off, it was a different sort of adrenaline all together. He looked different like this – so much less like the boy she had gone to Hogwarts with, and so much more like the man who had pulled her from danger. Her eyes took him in: the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the line of his back. She realized, quite suddenly, that she was staring… at _Malfoy_. Draco Malfoy. This was the boy who had called her terrible things every chance he got – who had been cruel to those around her just for a laugh. Her eyes stole back, and she tried to connect _this_ Draco Malfoy with the one from her past… but she couldn't. When she looked at him, all she could see was the man who had saved her life - the man who had looked at her, his eyes pleading for her to believe he was more than the mark on his arm. Against her better judgment, she found herself _liking_ this Draco Malfoy. She liked the strength and courage he had shown. She liked the honesty he had given her. She liked his smile. She realized she was staring again, and focused on checking his wounds.

She was right – he was bleeding again. Between heavy lifting and heavy breathing, the repair spell she had used had failed. She repeated it again, moving her wand over the area and watched it improve, but not heal this time. She'd have to muggle her way through, and asked Kreacher to find some clean linen to bind it with.

* * *

Draco pulled his shirt off, thinking only of the pain in his back, but quickly realized how intimate it had made things feel. It didn't help that they were alone in this corner of the kitchen while the others talked, planned and dozed at the opposite end. He told himself that she was only interested in the part of him that was bleeding, but he could feel her gaze lingering, and no matter what the voice in his head kept trying to say… he liked it. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him the way she was looking. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep himself from looking _back_.

The only way to bind his wound was to wrap clean linen completely around his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing steady as her arms reached around his body, softly smoothing the cloth against him.

"When did you learn repair spells?" he asked a little hoarsely, trying to distract her from the heat that was rising from his skin. "Studying to be a healer or something?"

She looked surprised at the suggestion, and stopped wrapping the wound to consider it.

"I had never… I didn't…" she pressed her lips together, shaking her head softly.

"This year… this task – destroying Voldemort's _soul_. I never planned for anything _after_. I'm not sure I believed there would be an 'after.' I learned every spell I thought would keep us alive. Stacks and stacks of books. Hours and hours learning incantations – intricate wand movements. Do you know what happened in the end? The one time I could have healed Ron, I was too afraid to try. I used Essence of Dittany because my hands were shaking too badly for any of the spells."

She smiled ruefully.

"A healer needs steadier hands and stronger nerves than mine."

"A healer saves lives, Granger," he said gesturing to the bandage that connected them. "I don't give a damn if your hands were shaking."

She turned away, blushing hotly. It was a 'thank you' and a compliment and something better than the praise any friend or professor could have given her. She was smiling shyly at the floor as she busied herself with the bandages again.

"What about you, Malfoy? What does someone like you do after taking their NEWTs?"

"What do you mean _someone like me_, Granger?" he asked with a smirk. "My father always meant for me to take on the family business. I don't know what will happen now."

"What does your family business do, exactly? Kick puppies? Things of that sort?"

"Ha. Ha." he said dryly. "We do glass. We're the largest manufacturer in Britain for window displays, glass phials, bottles, telescope lenses… that sort of thing."

"Glass?" she said with a laugh. "I never would have guessed – it's so… ordinary."

"Which is precisely why the Malfoy name isn't on anything. Publicly, it's called The London Glass Company. None of the Malfoys liked the association with such a _common_ trade. Naturally, if you tell anyone that's where the family fortune came from, I'll have to kill you," he said in a mock-serious tone.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I never would have believed your family made their fortune so legitimately."

"They didn't. It's how they got their start, generations ago, but once they had enough money, they began to use it. At first, they invested in fast-growing companies – no matter how they made their profits. Then they wanted more than money. They wanted power. So they began buying ministry officials and privileges. It's why the Malfoys have so many 'friends' in so many high places."

He could tell she didn't know how to respond. She looked taken aback that he was giving her this information so freely. Come to think of it… he was a little surprised himself.

"In any case," he said. "I imagine most of the Malfoy family's _investments_ will be thrown into Azkaban for their involvement with Death Eaters. We weren't the only ones buying."

"I wouldn't count on it," she said thoughtfully.

When Draco shot her a quizzical look, she pressed on.

"It'll be like last time. It will have to be. It's just too big – there are too many people involved. Amnesty will have to be given unless murder or torture was involved."

Involuntarily, her eyes flicked over to him.

"Of course, there are always special circumstances…"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Granger, or I'll think you're calling me a killer."

She shifted uncomfortably.

"After Dumbledore? After seeing me at the Manor? You still think I'm capable of murder and mayhem? I don't know whether to be angry or flattered."

"You brought Death Eaters into Hogwarts, held Dumbledore at wandpoint, disappeared into Voldemort's forces-"

"I _know_ what I did, Granger," he said, his tone dangerous.

"I only meant that it wouldn't be so far-fetched to think that of you."

He was silent, absently rubbing his thumb against the regret tattooed into his flesh. This was all he'd ever be to them. He shouldn't care. He _didn't_ care – not about them. But she had allowed him to think that maybe he was something more.

"I don't think you would kill or torture anyone if you could help it," she said softly.

He tried not to let his relief show. Her opinion of him did _not_ have this much weight. It _couldn't_.

"But you still think I'll still need special circumstances…"

"I was talking about your father."

There was no response to that. It was true that his father had tortured innocent people – maybe even killed them under the Dark Lord's threats and terror. Draco wondered if that made him a murderer or simply a coward. He didn't want to think about it.

She sensed his discomfort and busied herself with finishing the bandage. Then she asked the question that had been on her mind since their first day trapped here.

"Malfoy… why did you pull us out of the Room of Requirement? Ginny and me?" she asked him softly.

Draco hesitated, but then told her about McGonagall being overcome, about Potter being his second-best bet, and about him looking for Ginny.

"But then… why did you save _me_?"

This was why he had hesitated.

"Potter wouldn't have left without you either…"

"He _would_ have. He'd have felt awful about it later, but he would have."

He avoided looking her in the eyes.

"You _knew_ that. You knew he'd leave with or without me."

"You were right next to her – it wasn't–"

"I was nowhere near her!"

He was silent for a moment.

"What do you want from me, Granger?"

"Why, out of everyone in that room, did you find me?"

He took a deep breath, trying and failing to think of anything but the truth.

"I… owed it to you," he said slowly. "I know what her Cruciatus felt like. My mother wasn't always there to stop her."

She sat beside him in stunned silence. He hated that she could get him to say things like that. It was becoming a dangerous habit. And yet, what else could he have said? He had watched her undergo that torture, screaming in pain and terror, and he had been powerless. He had always been powerless against them.

"I shouldn't talk to you anymore," he said. "You know too much about me already."

Draco felt her hand cover his, and tried to remember why he shouldn't want her to touch him.

"In the past year, I've lied, cheated, and stolen more things than I can count," she said, looking at the floor in front of her.

"But all for a _good cause_," Draco said with an edge of sarcasm.

"I've killed at least 3 people," she continued quietly. "I don't know how many I've injured."

He was willing to bet those 3 people had died accidentally – falling debris from a spell and the like. But he knew that bringing about death, accidental or not, was a soul-rending experience, and so he said nothing.

"I've betrayed my parents. They'll never trust me again. Never."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"These are _my_ secrets. I know about this," she said tracing his mark. "I know about this." Here she traced a small scar on her throat – the one his Aunt Bellatrix was responsible for. "Now you know something about me."

He looked at her, unable to respond. He knew secrets, but they were the product of prying and manipulation, and they were used for leverage. These had been told out of trust. Why did she trust him?

Draco looked into her eyes for the answer and logic began to fail. The way she looked at him… it made him feel like someone he wanted to be. He held her hand tighter, grasping at the feeling she had kindled in him. Her features were delicate, and her expression was soft as she leaned closer. Merlin help him.

"I'm a bad person to be telling secrets to, Granger," he said.

"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy," she said softly.

Their hands were still linked as he moved slowly, carefully, until there was less than an inch between them. His eyes traveled down to her mouth, and he forced himself to stop.

How was it that she could make him feel as though he was falling through space, completely out of control? He could handle being dead inside. He had been dead inside for so long now. She made him feel vulnerable, and being vulnerable had always been dangerous.

Pulling back, he met her eyes with a look of regret.

"Granger, what are we _doing_? I'm a Death Eater. I'm everything you're supposed to be afraid of, and you're everything I'm supposed to hate."

She stood and faced him, her gaze steady.

"And yet, I'm not afraid of you, and you don't hate me," she shrugged. "Nothing is how it's supposed to be anymore."

* * *

He watched her walk away, and realized he didn't want her to. He watched her walk away, knowing that he could have kissed her, and that it could have changed everything.

He fought with himself furiously the rest of the night. It shouldn't be this complicated. If he liked her, he should act. But acting on attraction had never meant giving up a part of himself before. The girls he had pursued in the past had always fit into the mould his family had given him. They were pureblooded, well-connected, and wealthy. And if he was honest, they had usually pursued _him_. He knew that this time, he would have to trust blindly in his own feelings. He'd have to give up the part of himself that wanted to live up to the expectations of others.

_What would I be giving up?_ he wondered. Not his ideals – he had stopped believing in blood purity a long time ago. Not his reputation – the people who valued what he was when he had accepted the Dark Mark would never be a part of his life again. He would see to that.

It was his family, he realized. He didn't know if they had survived the attack from the beasts that now roamed Hogwarts. He didn't know if they would be imprisoned or given amnesty if they were alive. He didn't know, after everything they had been through together, how they would react to him kissing Hermione Granger. If their voices echoing in his thoughts were all he had left of them, how could he give them up? He couldn't. But he could choose to ignore what they said. Especially about this – especially about her.

Catching her gaze across the room in the candlelight, he knew his decision was made. It was stupid, and irrational, and against every belief… every principle… _everything_ he'd ever been taught. But looking at her… none of the rules applied. None of them fucking _mattered_. He found himself unconsciously scratching at the mark on his arm and wished it would somehow go away. He wanted to be more than that decision had made of him. He wanted more options than it had allowed him. He wanted her.


	6. Survivors

**Chapter 6**

**Survivors**

Today was supposed to be spent on contingency plans, but they had already exhausted their options. The Room of Requirement seemed to be the only option that didn't require them fighting through the mob of beasts that separated them from Hogsmede. Although some had said they were up for the fight, others wondered aloud whether they'd be able to apparate from Hogsmede either. Again, they were left to ponder how wide-spread the attack was – how many it had affected. As the morning wore on, the discussions devolved into individual conversations. People talked about their families, their pasts, and their futures.

Draco sat alone, unwilling to talk about his family or his past, and completely unsure of his future. He noticed that Hermione was sitting alone too, and moved to sit beside her, hoping she wouldn't turn away after last night.

"Not keen to talk about your family, Granger?" he asked.

"Not keen to talk about your past, Malfoy?" she replied bitingly.

"No one's asked about it," he shrugged.

"Would you honestly answer if they did?" she asked incredulously.

"Depends on who was asking… and what they wanted to know."

"Sounds a lot like a 'no.'"

"For some things, it is," he responded. "I don't enjoy discussing the things I've done or seen these past years. But if the right person asked…"

He looked into her eyes, and was gratified to see the understanding take hold there. After a few moments of silence between them, Draco asked:

"Why don't your parents trust you?"

Hermione shot him a look that was equal parts panic and venom.

"I've been trying to work out what someone like you could have-"

"Someone like me?" she balked at the statement. "I've told you things about myself that would be enough to lose _anyone's_ trust."

"Not your parents. Not for lying or stealing. Not even for taking a life."

"Why are you so interested in my relationship with my parents?"

"We had a deal, Granger, my secrets for yours," he said trying to lighten the mood.

"The more people realize who you've become, the fewer secrets you'll have. It was a secret 3 days ago that you wanted a different life. I'm not so sure it is anymore."

He looked at her in stunned silence, considering her words.

"So it seems you already know more of my secrets than you're entitled to."

"I should have kissed you last night," he said quietly before he could stop himself. "There you are, Granger. That's the biggest secret I have."

She smiled away from him, blushing prettily.

"Perhaps we're even then."

It was the feeling he got from flying recklessly. If he had thought it through he might never have told her. But here he was, watching her smile… and he might as well have been soaring through the air.

* * *

When Lavender asked him what he would do if they got out of here, Blaise came up blank. He had just about finished his 7th year, and had been gearing up to take his NEWTs when Potter came, and Voldemort with him, and all bloody hell broke loose. He had taken all the right courses to go into Magical Law Enforcement, but everything was different now. Everything had changed when Voldemort was defeated. Now he could do whatever he wanted.

He had never been interested in Law Enforcement or Magical Cooperation or any of the other rubbish connected with the Ministry of Magic. With Voldemort looming on the horizon, though, his mother had demanded that he choose a job within the Ministry and take all the necessary courses.

_Whether the Ministry falls to Voldemort or it stands, you will have a position of power and the trust of whoever is in control in the end._

The Zabinis didn't care one way or the other about Voldemort or his causes. They were just tolerant enough to get by, just disapproving enough to blend in, and just sympathetic enough to be beyond reproach, no matter who was looking. It was how they had made it this far without being dragged into the whole damn mess. And just look where it had landed him – trapped in the school kitchens, still playing his bloody cards.

Of the seven others in the room with him, five were Gryffindors. When they escaped this wretched place, there was no telling what reception there would be for a Slytherin like himself. It was for this reason that he had done a great deal of 'bonding' with the most gullible of the Gryffindors, Lavender Brown. He found her plain and dull, but the others trapped with him would report that he had spent his time with _her_ rather than his Death Eater housemate. And so he put in his time.

He had listened to her drone on about her desire to become a writer for Witch Weekly before she had turned the 'future' question on him. He didn't know what he wanted anymore – he was so used to accepting whatever role he had to play. He wondered how many others were in his position. Following this train of thought, he glanced over at Malfoy. If he could get his name cleared, however unlikely that was, who knew what was possible. He suddenly had to grin, seeing him with Hermione Granger. _He's playing the same game I am_, he thought. _Maybe he'll have a shot after all_.

Lavender was still looking at him and he realized he hadn't answered her question. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared to launch into his 'passion' for Magical Law Enforcement, but he hadn't even opened his mouth when everyone turned in the direction of a faint 'pop.'

* * *

Nine pairs of eyes came to rest on a small, nervous-looking house elf. The elf looked around frantically before jumping backwards, sqeaking, "Harry Potter!" and disapparating on the spot.

"Wait!" Harry yelled at the empty air.

Everyone began talking at once. Had the elf come from outside of Hogwarts? Did it mean they could apparate out of here? Why had he left the moment he saw Harry?

Another 'pop' effectively silenced their questions. The little house elf had returned, and this time he wasn't alone. Harry recovered first.

"Ron?"

* * *

Hermione panicked. _Gods, there he is! Alive! My… my boyfriend._ She turned the word over in her head, but Malfoy leaning close to kiss her was what came to mind. A surge of emotions swept over her. Merlin knew how much she and Ron had been through this past year. What right did she have to cause him anymore pain? What right did she have to put Harry and Ginny and all their other friends in the middle of another battle?

_But Ron left._ He had left her there to die. She thought back to the frantic crush of people trying to escape and remembered Malfoy's arm around her waist. Draco Malfoy. She hadn't even been his to save. She remembered how close he had come to kissing her, and she wanted to believe that _that_ was what a first kiss should feel like.

Ron was facing her now. It was one thing to decide to stop caring for him. It was another thing altogether to have him here in front of her. She looked up at him and saw his eyes begging her forgiveness.

She would break. It was too much to ask of her.

He was the easy way out – the sure bet – but she wanted more from him than that. She tried desperately to make herself feel something for him that had been gone for some time, and in her desperate search of his eyes, she had taken a step forward, unconsciously.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

He reached her in two long strides and swept her up in his arms, placing frantic kisses in her disheveled hair. She hadn't breathed a word – hadn't held her arms out to him – hadn't even smiled. He had taken her by surprise.

"Hermione, I'm _so_ sorry," he breathed, holding her much tighter than necessary. "I just panicked… I… I never should have left you there – thank Merlin you're alright!"

He pulled back and gave her a meaningful look before closing the distance between them with a clumsy kiss. It didn't feel right. Hermione tried to pull away from him, but Ron pushed his lips roughly against hers one more time, trying and failing to deepen the kiss before relenting.

"Honestly – save it for when we don't have to watch," Ginny said rolling her eyes at them.

"Sorry," he said with a roguish grin. He gave her some breathing room, but wouldn't let go of her. She felt ill. She wanted him to stop touching her – she felt trapped in his embrace.

Harry, Neville and Terry looked mildly uncomfortable. Lavender was glaring at Ron. Blaise looked between Lavender and Hemrione, thoroughly amused.

Hermione was at the wrong angle to see Malfoy's face.

"I'm glad you're alright," Harry said. "Where have you been?"

"Gryffindor Common Room," he answered. "Bill and Parvati are there too."

"Parvati's alive?" Lavender gasped, relief flooding her face.

"What about Fleur? Does Bill know where she is?" Harry asked in a hushed voice as the others in the room buzzed excitedly at the news of more survivors.

Ron shook his head and looked away.

"He's going bloody mad."

He had let go of Hermione at last, and she edged away from him slowly.

"What about the other common rooms? Are there survivors there too?" Harry asked.

"I dunno," Ron answered, shrugging. "We sent Libby to the Room of Requirement as soon as everything was quiet," he gestured to the little house elf still at his side. "We thought we could still get out that way-"

"You can't?" Harry interrupted, looking distressed.

"She said the whole room's lost its magic. It's just a room now – no portraits hanging or anything."

The entire group felt the full force of his words, and looked at one another, devastated.

"Did she see anything else?" Harry asked, dejectedly.

"Yeah – whatever attacked everyone was in there, waiting for someone to come in. She barely made it back. We ran out of food two days ago, but we thought they'd be here too," he indicated the kitchen. "Finally, we knew we had to risk it."

He grinned, looking at Harry.

"Imagine our reaction when she came back, squeaking all about Harry Potter and his friends!" he laughed and looked around the room, his smile faltering when he saw Malfoy standing behind Hermione glaring at him with revulsion.

"If you made it all the way back to the Gryffindor common room, the chances are good that there are survivors in the other common rooms too," Harry said, bringing Ron's attention back to the group. "Kreacher, gather up some food. We'll go to Bill and Parvati, and then try the other rooms."

* * *

"_Some emotions are never appropriate for a man of the Malfoy line, Draco. You must learn to control any emotion that could make your actions irrational._"

It was something his father liked to tell him often.

"_Anger is acceptable. You're acting out of rage. Rage is unstable – badly controlled by you, and easily manipulated by others._"

The lessons continued thus for the greater part of his life… he was reprimanded for rage, despair, shock… even extreme happiness. His mind was currently wrapped around a memory from last year during his first raid. He had done miserably, of course, managing not to kill, maime, or even intimidate. He had told his father lamely that he had panicked, not knowing where to begin.

"_Have you learned nothing? Fear is useful. But panic! Your lack of control is nothing short of disgraceful. I would have thought you could recognize it as a distraction._"

It was very lucky that Crabbe and Goyle had done no better than him, or his father might not have found it necessary to speak in order to punish him. Draco felt that he had learned to master his emotions incredibly well, especially over the past two years, but one thing he had also learned was that emotions didn't particularly care whether or not he was a Malfoy.

Right now, his father's words in his head didn't make one damned bit of difference. Right now, he panicked.

Bloody fucking Weasel!

Why the hell hadn't he kissed her? Hesitation. Over-thinking. These had always been his weaknesses in battle, and clearly, they had followed him here. If he was anyone else, he would have had the balls to kiss her last night and consequences be damned. But he was Draco Malfoy. Draco-fucking-Malfoy, who didn't do things like that.

He had _told_ her, though, and the way she had blushed and smiled… Her back was turned to him now, and he stared at her with an intensity he willed her to feel. _Just look once _his mind was silently entreating her. But then she took a step forward and things went horribly wrong. He waited for it to be a mistake. He waited for her to push him away – to break free of his embrace. And then it couldn't be taken back anymore. He watched as she kissed him, and the jealousy and rage overwhelmed him.

* * *

How could he have let himself get to this point? He had let go of every part of himself that would have stood in his way. He had let himself think about how it could be to have something real in his life for a change. How could he have thought she might somehow belong to him once all this was said and done? Gods! He had actually _wanted_ her to be his. It still shocked him.

He suddenly remembered his mother sitting him down after catching him with a girl for the first time. He had been days away from turning sixteen. At first she had sat across from him looking at her hands clasped in her lap. This was supposed to be his father's job, he remembered thinking.

"_Draco, you've grown up so quickly,"_ she had said, looking at him at last. _"I can see that you are becoming a man."_

It was mortifying – having her talk to him about this. She looked like she was choosing her next words very carefully.

"_I would only ask that you be careful. Someday you will find a woman you love very much. Think about that day, Draco," _she cautioned._ "When you find her, you will want her to know everything about you – even your past." _

"_Mother, you can't seriously think I'll just take a wife and start producing heirs straight away," _he had told her sarcastically.

"_T__he day will come when you want nothing more than to have a woman at your side," _she had said confidently.

"_Oh, really?" _Draco replied, insolently. _"And when will that magical day come?"_

"W_hen you wish you could change to make yourself better for her," _she replied softly.

"_Sounds brilliant, Mum," _he had said bitterly. _"I'll know she's a keeper when I want to change who I am."_

_Bloody likely_, he had thought snidely.

Fucking hell. He wanted to change who he was.

He was sick of being told just where that mark put him in the grand scheme of things. He was tired of being told by dark and light alike exactly what his proper place was. He was ready to be a fucking _good guy_ for once in his life. He tried to tell himself it wasn't because of her. But he knew it wasn't true when he thought about her small hand upon his arm. Somehow that one touch had undone two years of lies about himself… and to himself.

Like any good Malfoy, Draco tried to push himself past the agonized aching deep in his chest. What had his father taught him about _this_? How was he supposed to handle _this_ situation?

"_You must learn to school your features, Draco," _his father's voice intoned. "_It is never a victory if they cannot affect you with your loss._"

Unconsciously, his face became impassive – emotionless. But for all of his father's confidence in the technique, it was still someone else's victory. He was still affected by his loss.

"_A Malfoy does not whine or worry over the outcome of a single conflict," _his father interrupted again._ "There are always other ways of getting what we want._"

Gods, he hoped now more than ever that his father was right.


	7. A Broken Flower

**I am taking this moment to remind readers that this story is, indeed, rated 'M.' This chapter contains graphic violence as well as the implication of a non-consensual sexual encounter. Please consider carefully whether or not you wish to continue reading, given the content.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**A Broken Flower**

Fleur Weasley was crouched in a corner of the Ravenclaw common room. Tears streamed across her marred face. She had a single thought playing in her mind. _If the creatures hadn't attacked, he would have killed me. _But it wasn't a thought of gratitude, it was one of anguish and despair. Gods, how she wished for death. How could her husband want her now?

It all began to play out in her mind again, unbidden of course. Flashes of a dark-haired man. When she had felt the stunning spell connect with her hip, she expected that the green light would follow immediately, and braced herself for the nothingness that awaited. It didn't come. This man knew better than to kill. He knew that death would be a heroic end to a dedicated fight for _good_.

Unable to struggle, she had felt herself dragged into a nearby room where she was horrified to see two other… she _thought_ they were females, but they had no hair… and their features were so horribly wrecked…

"A _Veela_, is it?" The man had leered over her. She couldn't even be sure he was a Death Eater. If he was, he lacked all outward appearances of one. She watched, aghast, as he adjusted himself conspicuously, showing the pleasure he found in his new catch.

Even if she wasn't immobile from the spell, she was sure she'd be too frozen by disgust and fear to run. She had never encountered this type of evil before. This was a different evil than she had been trained to fight.

"We'll just get started then, shall we?" he said, smiling lewdly at her.

Suddenly, she wasn't afraid of death anymore. _Gods, please just let him kill me_, she had pleaded in her mind. _Please don't let him touch me._

He aimed his wand at her head and muttered something under his breath. She felt an immense burning sensation throughout her scalp, and was horrified to feel her hair falling out in clumps.

"So pretty…" he had said, cocking his head to one side. And then he said the word she had been praying he wouldn't think of.

"Imperio."

She could feel herself stand up, and then suddenly felt an incredible desire to inflict pain on herself. She began scratching violently at her skin with her long fingernails, and hurling herself against the stone walls. She clawed at the few very few patches of her golden hair that had withstood the spell and began ripping it out.

It was an ironic sort of relief that flowed through her when she realized that he wanted to torture her before… well, before anything else.

He seemed to become bored and stunned her once again before releasing her from the imperio. She crumpled to the ground, facing up. Everything hurt. She was sure the entire left side of her body was badly bruised from her actions, and her nails had connected with more of her skin than she thought it was possible to reach. The worst pain came from her bleeding, tender head. She still couldn't move. She didn't even know where her wand was. Still out in the hallway, perhaps? Her heart began pounding in her chest when she saw him pull a knife from his robes and move toward her.

Sitting in the common room, she shook her head violently to clear away the next memories, cradling her unrecognizable face and bald head gently in her hands. Someone was walking toward her again. The other three wouldn't leave her alone. They kept insisting that she let them heal her smaller injuries and tell them her name. She hadn't yet spoken to them. Instead she glared threateningly at them, brandishing her wand. She didn't want to be healed. If she was ugly, maybe Bill would just leave her be.

* * *

It was still dark out when they heard a pop that could only mean apparition. They all gripped their wands, as a precaution, but were immediately relieved to see the hero himself, Harry Potter walking up to them.

"We knew you had lived," said a younger boy who later introduced himself as Stewart Ackerley.

"Are you here to get us out?" asked Anthony Goldstein.

"How many others are alive?" demanded an unfriendly looking older girl Harry recognized as Penelope Clearwater.

Harry was well into the details of all he knew before he saw movement in one of the corners.

"Who is _he_?" he asked them.

"We're pretty sure it's _she_," replied Anthony grimly. "And we don't know who she is. She won't talk to us. She's hurt pretty bad… no, Harry, don't try getting close, she shot a hex at me yesterday for that… no one here recognizes her."

Harry looked at her form uncertainly for a few moments before approaching cautiously. When he was a few feet away, he saw blue light shoot from the tip of her wand and barely got up a shield in time to deflect it.

"Alright, I'll leave you alone," he grumbled at her. "But at least tell me if you heard everything I told them – I want everyone to know what's going on."

She still wouldn't look at him, but she nodded her head slowly.

"Can we count on you to help us fight if it's necessary?"

This time she did look at him. Her blue eyes shone with a ferocity that surprised him and she nodded vigorously. The shape of her face seemed vaguely familiar, but both her eyes were black, her face and neck had been… _Gods…_sliced? None of it was life-threatening – none of the cuts were deep, but it was a terrifying picture nonetheless. Her eyes – maybe that's what was familiar. He could see from the way she was crouched that she had a small frame. Suddenly a glint caught his eye. There was something on her left hand. A ring. _Oh Gods…_he had a theory now, but the thought of someone he knew with injuries like hers sickened him.

He turned back around to the others, almost dizzy.

"I've got Hufflepuff left – I'm off now."

Before he apparated away with Kreacher, he pulled Anthony aside.

"What happened to her?" Harry asked him in a voice that was deathly quiet.

"Something worse than bad," Anthony said running a hand across his eyes, as though trying to wipe a memory away. "I'm the one who saw her crawling in the hallway on my way here. I had to give her my robe because… because hers was… _gone_."

"_Fucking hell_," Harry said bristling and cringing all at once. If anyone ever dared to touch Ginny… he was immediately filled with rage. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Keep trying to heal her – even if you have to do it while she's asleep," he told Anthony. "I'll be coming around again tomorrow."

* * *

There were more survivors. Three including Ron in Gryffindor. Four in Ravenclaw. That was the good news. The bad news… the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms had been trampled – their entrances had been destroyed.

They absorbed the information, grouped together in conversation, while Harry, still shaken to the core by what he had seen, went immediately to Ginny, wrapping his arms around her possessively. He kissed her deeply, running his fingers through her shining hair and across her beautiful face. He broke the kiss, holding her close.

"I love you," he said softly.

He had said it before, but Ginny wasn't prepared for it this time. This time there was so much behind his tone and expression that she felt lightheaded for a moment. Something was wrong – he was holding onto her desperately.

"Harry, what is it?"

"Tell me you love me," he said, burying his face in her hair again.

She pulled back to look searchingly into his eyes. Her hand traveled up to rest against his neck, and she felt his arms tighten around her protectively.

"I love you," she said, not breaking eye contact. He pulled her to his chest again.

"Harry?" she ventured once more.

"I think I found Fleur," he said as she felt a shudder run through him.

* * *

It was hard to try to pass that day. They tried for hours to strategize and plan a way to escape, but with no solid results. They just didn't have enough information. They could easily enough get out of the castle and to the grounds, but to what avail? How widespread was this assault of the creatures? How far outside of the grounds did they have to be to apparate now? Or could _anyone_ apparate at all? It was powerful magic that kept a house elf from being able to apparate... It was all the more simple with humans. A few in the room still hoped to use magic to re-open the passage in the Room of Requirement, but no one had any idea how. Without any guarantees, no one advocated the idea for long. If they were going to risk going out of the safety of this place, they needed to know it was going to work.

All nerves were frazzled by the time Terry brought up the Room of Requirement idea for the sixth time. Malfoy used no restraint in telling Terry how completely and utterly moronic he thought he was.

Terry was angry now.

"Well then what's your bloody contribution? You sit there and offer nothing but complaints! I'm sick of you! You're just a bloody Death Eater – we should have known you wouldn't help us!"

"Look, Malfoy," Harry said, barely masking his own annoyance, "I know that we haven't come up with anything brilliant yet, but why don't you take a shot at it then? Tell us what makes you so good at planning, why don't you?"

They all looked at Malfoy, but he was staring off into space contemplatively and didn't seem to have heard Harry. Everyone turned away wearily and began to rehash other strategies.

"I _am_ rather good at fixing cabinets…" he said thoughtfully after several minutes had passed.

Now Harry was on his feet, anger flashing in his eyes.

"That's not even _close_ to being funny, you bastard."

Draco looked irritated with Harry for a moment before seeing that Hermione's eyes had lit up.

"_She_ got it," he said testily.

"But where is it?" she asked anxiously.

Zabini and Ginny had caught on by now.

"I can't be sure it's still in Borgin and Burkes – it _was_ at the beginning of the year. But it wouldn't matter where we ended up so long as it wasn't here, right?" he asked the group in general.

"But is there even one still here?" Hermione asked.

"What the bloody hell are you all going on about?" Terry demanded angrily.

"Vanishing cabinets," Malfoy said, exasperated he still had to catch some of them up. "And yes there's one still here. I made sure of it after sixth year. It's broken again, but with a bit of time, I think I could fix it."

Everyone in the room looked suddenly hopeful.

"Where is it, Malfoy?" Harry asked, trying again for politeness.

"They tried to remove it after… sixth year. But I confunded the movers. It's in…" his face suddenly fell. "It _was_ in the Slytherin common room…"

The hopeful faces faded into despair as they recalled Harry's words. _The Slytherin portrait has been destroyed..._ The cabinet could have been destroyed too. And what were the chances of getting inside to repair it now when the creatures could so easily get into the unprotected room?

"We've got to chance it," Harry said uneasily. "We'll wait until morning."

"We? I don't need a fucking babysitter, Potter," Malfoy said, scowling at him.

"For Merlin's sake, I was just offering my bloody help," Harry said, exasperated.

Draco blinked.

"Well I don't need it," he said lamely, the edge gone from his tone. "You don't even know anything about vanishing cabinets."

"Go on your own then," Harry shrugged. "When you get back, you can tell us if it's still there, and I'll go round to the common rooms to let them know."

* * *

Everyone seemed to be sleeping well with the hope of escape surrounding them warmly. Everyone except Hermione. She had long since disentangled herself from Ron's sleepy grasp, and in the soft glow of the single candle burning through the night, she stared up at the ceiling. She was trying desperately to analyze the chain of events that had led up to this point, certain that if she could sort her feelings out from the events, she would know how to behave tomorrow.

If anyone had seen her closeness to Malfoy since they had all arrived here, no one had mentioned it – least of all to Ron, for which she was grateful. It was too late to back down now, she had decided. Perhaps she could still make things work with Ron. It was what everyone expected, at least, which was an argument for the road _more_ traveled by – that path of least resistance she was already staggering down.

She couldn't help but feel resentment toward Ron now. Her time in this kitchen had been the first in almost five years that she hadn't had an expectation to meet – an obligation to fulfill. _Her boys_ had always been able to count on her for anything they needed, but with Ginny to see to Harry and with Ron missing in action, she'd had no one to consider but herself. It was intoxicating to think for a moment that she could act without incurring the usual consequences. She could only conclude that she had gone to the extreme of her freedom by allowing herself to feel for Draco Malfoy. She had paid the same price for her folly as Icarus. Draco had made her wings out of wax and paper feelings, but they had burned away in the arms of Ronald Weasley. She looked woefully upon the red-haired man that she would allow herself to be tied to – her _proper place_ – and sighed in resignation.

She saw movement beyond him, and noted that Draco was still awake. He was lying on his back, pressing his palms to his forehead as though trying to ward off a headache. She raised herself silently on her elbow to better see him, realizing too late that the moment his hands left his face, she would be caught staring.

* * *

Draco had not had a particularly good day. Scratch that. Today was total and utter shite. He had been working out a mental plan of attack for anything that would split Hermione from that damned survivor, but all plans so far required that Weasley be perpetually unavailable for comment or be perpetually acting like an ass in front of her. He didn't doubt Weasley's ability on the latter point, but he couldn't base his plans on something as unpredictable as behavior. And so he was back where he started, with Hermione labeled as somebody else's.

He pressed his hands against his face in frustration. When he opened his eyes, he looked over, wondering if he could see Hermione's sleeping form. He was met with her embarrassed gaze. Had she been watching him?

He knew he had to act now rather than risk not being able to act later. He got up without a sound, not breaking his eye contact with her, and moved to the other side of the kitchen. He looked back once he was there to see her following his example and tip-toeing over to him. The moment she was close by he cast a series of sound barriers around them and a concealment charm just in case any others should wake up.

And then they just stood looking at each other. He noticed that she didn't meet his gaze for long, blushing and looking down at her feet.

_Brilliant bloody idea_. _What the hell were you going to do once you got her here?_ He thought, scolding himself. _Make her see,_ came the answer. _Try at least._

Even though he knew the silencing barriers were around them, he was afraid of speaking into the unwavering stillness. He took a step closer to her, not knowing what he should do now that she was so close. His proximity seemed to snap her out of her shyness as she looked back up at him, and then over to where Ron was sleeping.

He consoled himself that at least she hadn't backed away from him. She looked up into his eyes again, and he knew what to do now. He closed the distance between them, letting his hands find the contours of her waist. It was a risk. A big one. He waited for her reaction, fully expecting to be pushed away and slapped across the face. His adrenaline coursed through him as he watched the corners of her mouth curve softly, and felt her hands slide gently up his arms. It was all he needed. He lowered his lips to hers slowly, and felt a thrill of lust and possession and eagerness as he caressed them gently with his own. He couldn't stop himself from pulling her into his arms as she began to explore the shape of his mouth. Burning, he deepened the kiss, and felt her hands trail from his arms to his neck, her fingers running through the short hair at the back of his head - pulling him deeper into the kiss. He was lost and he knew it. She felt amazing. He hadn't meant to lose control like this, but how could he have known she would respond so passionately? Gods! How was he supposed to be the responsible one? He had counted on her to stop him. It took every ounce of his willpower to pull his lips from hers, but he didn't let go – couldn't even open his eyes. He simply held her close, needing this moment to feel how her body melted into his embrace. Tomorrow he told himself he could deal with whatever happened if tonight he had given her his vote. He took one last deep breath before looking down at her.

"We can't do this," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. He still hadn't let go of her. She looked at him for a moment longer before looking away and shaking her head.

"Draco… We can't do this. I'm... I _can't_ do this. I'm with Ron," she said unevenly.

She ran her fingers along his sleeve, tracing the mark beneath the material.

"This is everything we've been fighting against for as long as we can remember."

His face twisted in pain as he pulled his arm away from her. His eyes were shining the same way they had been that first night. It was a look that asked someone to be on his side – to believe that he was telling the truth.

"I've been fighting it longer than you have."

It was only a moment. She was able to see who he was only a moment at a time. And, one moment at a time, she felt herself falling. Her hand had reached out to take his, and she had taken a step closer to him again. But it was only a moment. Then he stepped away from her and years of his father's lessons took hold. His face became empty – his eyes were cold.

"Don't worry Granger," he said coolly, "I'm good at living up to other people's expectations of me."


	8. Obstacles

**Chapter 8**

**Obstacles**

They all awoke before dawn the next morning. Harry, who had woken at the same time as Hermione, had left with Kreacher almost immediately to begin the rounds of the other Common Rooms. Ron had awoken grumpily when he realized that Hermione wasn't next to him. She was scratching away at some parchment at one of the nearby counters. When she saw Ron's movement, she discreetly shoved her work into a pocket and then continued scratching at the second parchment until he had come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She had to force herself not to stiffen in his embrace.

"Why on earth are you up this early?" he asked drowsily.

"Just working out everything I know about vanishing cabinets…" she replied, distracted now that others were stretching and rubbing their eyes.

It wasn't the truth. She had been making a list, of course. Well, a comparison, really. No, a list - definitely a list. There were questions to ask herself about Ron, and questions to ask herself about Draco. It didn't mean she was breaking up with Ron, and it certainly didn't mean that she would go running into a Death Eater's arms. But she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she hadn't written a list. She had just finished writing _Would my friends hate me forever? _on Draco's side when she saw Ron stretch and walk toward her. Now she could feel Ron's entire body pressed against her own.

It was awkward for everyone in the kitchens as they watched Ron run his hands along her arms in a 'comforting' fashion before turning her around for a kiss.

Hermione's body finally rebelled against her pliant actions and avoided his lips by burying her face in his shoulder. But that didn't make her feel any better. She felt uncomfortable in his arms. She wanted to excuse herself – to be anywhere but here, but there was nowhere else to go. Suddenly she felt it. Something hard pressing into her thigh, and she knew she couldn't do this. She just couldn't. She was going to be sick. She heard the 'pop' that meant Kreacher was back with Harry.

"I'm leaving," Draco said, disgusted. He walked toward Kreacher.

Relief washed over her as she pushed away from Ron, leaving him looking confused.

"Wait, I'm coming," she said, an edge of desperation in her voice.

"Where the bloody hell do you think you're going with him?" Ron demanded, his temper getting the best of him immediately.

"I'm helping him repair the vanishing cabinet in the Slytherin common room – I read up on them after sixth year," she said, running to catch up to Draco, who wouldn't look at her.

"Then I'm coming too," he said, still angry.

"No!"

Hermione blinked when she realized how forcefully she had said it.

"No, Ron, please… I need you to stay here… and work out the… contingency plans with Harry," she said fishing desperately.

Even Malfoy looked incredulously at her.

Harry, who was not as thick as some believed him to be, could see Hermione backpedaling. He stepped forward, grabbing Ron's arm and leading him to the counter they had set up with scribbled out facts and possible routes.

"Yeah, mate, you've seen more of the castle than us – we really need your input on this one," he said.

Ron glared at all parties involved but allowed himself to be pulled away. When he got to the counter, he turned to Malfoy.

"If you lay one bloody finger on her, Malfoy…" he said warningly, but Draco strode up to him, meeting the challenge.

"You'll what? Run away again?" he sneered.

"Shut the hell up Malfoy!" Ron bellowed. "You have no bloody idea what you're talking about."

"You want to know who saved her life?" his voice was deathly quiet now. "You want to know who pulled her and your sister out of that mob after you fucking left?"

Ron was struck dumb by these words. He looked beseechingly at Harry who only nodded in confirmation of what he had said.

The two adversaries were locked in an angry staring competition. Hermione quickly put herself between the two of them.

"Stop it!" she said, looking at Ron. "Both of you," she turned to Draco. The anger left his face as soon as his eyes met hers and she had to look away.

"There's no time for this," she continued. "We've got to go."

"Hermione…" Ron said, fumbling for words. "Look, I… I said I was sorry."

He tried to take her hands into his, but she pulled away, looking at the floor.

"I need time, Ron," she said, knowing that no amount of time in the world could make her feel the way she once had about him.

She saw a flash of anger pass over his face before he turned away from her.

She looked up at Draco, whose gaze hadn't left her yet.

"Let's go," she said.

* * *

It had been agreed upon that Draco would apparate with Kreacher first to be sure the Slytherin Common Room was safe. He was relieved to find it empty. After a cursory search of the dormitories turned up nothing of concern, he located the Cabinet and began to cast wards on the area around it. She arrived a few minutes later, and joined him in setting up the wards as Kreacher moved off to a corner of the room to sleep. It seemed to be his favorite… his _only_ pastime.

The first hour was spent examining the damaged cabinet. They had found it turned on its side. Both doors had been wrenched off and trampled, and the body of the Cabinet itself was scratched and splintered in many places. If it were a normal wardrobe or something non-magical, it would have been all too easy to get it in good order again. But this was a vanishing cabinet. It required more than just repair. It required the equivalent of magical healing.

After taking extensive notes about everything from its condition to its size, the two sat silently on a battered couch, analyzing the situation. It was remarkable that they had been able to hold off coherent conversation up to this point. Now it would be unavoidable.

"Do you think you could make a list of the spells you used last time?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he replied unenthusiastically. The entire experience of 'last time' was one he had tried again and again to put behind him.

After a few more awkward moments of silence between them, Hermione spoke again.

"Do you suppose we should get back to the kitchens now?" she asked.

"Missing him already?"

She sighed and sank back into the cushions.

"They'll worry about us if we're gone much longer," she said wearily.

"They'll worry about _you_," he replied. "So have Kreacher take you back. I could use some time alone."

"We need to stick together, Malfoy."

He shot her a look at her word choice.

She rolled her eyes before continuing.

"Suit yourself. _I'm_ going back."

"Are we pretending nothing happened, then?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, as though that should have been obvious.

She turned to leave but he caught hold of her wrist. She glared at him, daring him not to let go.

"Explain to me how you can let Weasley put his hands on you, Granger."

"Let go, Malfoy," she said tiredly.

"If you can look me in the eye and tell me you enjoy it, I swear I'll never touch you again."

She looked up at him coldly.

"Back off, Malfoy. It doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't? Because I'll bet my life that you've never kissed _him_ like that."

He tugged her gently closer.

"And I'll bet you never will."

"It doesn't matter how we kiss. I wouldn't expect you to understand. He's always been-"

"I've seen him kiss you, Granger. You brace yourself when he comes toward you. When you don't see him coming, you flinch at his touch."

She looked away from him, confirming the truth of his statement. He reached up and gently turned her face toward his.

"This is how it's supposed to feel."

He pulled her closer still, and moved in to kiss her, but she broke away from him, looking angry.

"It doesn't matter how it feels!" she said forcefully.

"It doesn't matter how your boyfriend makes you _feel_? Is that really your argument?"

"You don't understand anything about this! I can't just break up with him - he loves me."

"The poor fool. How long do you think he'll go without realizing you're 'just friends?'" he asked bitingly.

"You want to play this out? Fine! Let's say I've seen the error of my ways! I've decided to walk away from _everything_ and _everyone_ I've _ever _known.._. _to be with you. Then what?"

"I don't underst_-"_

"You're right! You _don't_ understand. There are no obstacles to overcome with Ron – no Death Eaters to outrun, no friends to lose–"

"No intelligent conversations to endure, no attraction to bother with... all good points, please continue," he said sarcastically.

She glared at him.

"My life right now is friends for dinner and huge family gatherings and a sweater every year at Christmas… You don't know what a family can be like, Draco."

His eyes flashed dangerously, and she knew she had crossed a line.

"I'm sorry… I've told you my family is as good as lost. I can't lose anyone else."

"You don't know what 'trapped' feels like, Hermione. You'll hate yourself more every day you're with him. You can try to build your whole life on holidays and dinner parties, but his family won't change how you feel about him."

She took a deep breath and looked away from him. She looked close to tears.

"Ron is a good person," she said, desperately.

He drew as close to her as she would allow.

"Am I a good person, Hermione?" he asked in a quiet voice.

He saw the anguish on her face.

"You said there weren't any obstacles with Weasley, but you only meant there weren't any for _him_."

Hermione pulled away from him, shaking her head slowly.

"It's too much. I can't think with you telling me what to think about."

"Then I'll leave you to think in peace," he said turning and walking to Kreacher.


	9. Weasley's Bluff

**Chapter 9**

**Weasley's Bluff**

Bill Weasley was having trouble breathing. Harry was sitting just across from him graciously looking in another direction while Ginny tried to whisper soothing things and rubbed his back in gentle circles. Parvati was doing her best not to eavesdrop in the silence, but the news of Fleur had very obviously affected her too.

The common room was no brighter than the kitchen. Bricks and books and rubble had been magicked into place over where the great window should have been, and the doors to all the dormitories had been sealed and warded shut, for fear of flying creatures. A fire posed the risk of them tracing the source of the smoke, so they had sealed the fireplace as well. Now they all sat huddled together in the near darkness.

Bill knew better than most what had caused the creatures to attack. He had felt it too.

_He had felt drawn to attack the group of students he was ushering toward the Room of Requirement. The urge was suppressed with some effort, but he had a sudden understanding of everything that was about to happen. He knew in that moment that the only thing that mattered now was getting to Fleur. _

_Taller than most, he was able to scan the mob in the Room of Requirement quickly before summoning a broom to his aid. He had been able to make a cursory sweep of the first few floors before he could hear the stamping of their feet. He simply didn't have the time to check in the classrooms, but then his wife wasn't the kind to be hiding in a room alone – she was a Tri-Wizard champion, for Merlin's sake. He made it to the sixth floor before he could see the creatures flooding onto the staircases of the lower floors. He had just started on the seventh floor when he heard the agonized screaming of those who had survived only to be killed by this unknown wave of enemies._

_In desperation he had looked around for any sign of that shining gold hair that belonged only to his Fleur. In vain, his gaze had torn at every sign of movement. He knew he was nearing the Gryffindor Common Room, but he had been determined not to stop until he had found her. He remembered latching onto that determination as he craned his neck around for the hundredth time, looking for any sign of his wife. He had a faint notion of extreme pain before darkness engulfed him._

_When he had woken an hour later, it was inside of the Common Room with Parvati standing over him, muttering healing spells, and Ron sitting close by, looking utterly shaken. In his reckless flying, with his eyes on anything but the air in front of him, he had crunched sickeningly into a low archway just in front of the Fat Lady's portrait._

Yes, he knew what had caused them to attack. But what demon would dare touch the woman he loved? He had never before experienced that thrill of battle he had heard described by others in the Order. He had never ached for the challenge of a duel. He had never been a violent man, by nature. Now, he felt his control slipping, if it was control. He could still feel that impulse at the back of his mind to attack humanity. This time it was directed – all of it – toward a single monster… a man driven by the darkest, most evil... He had to force himself to calm down. It wouldn't do to lose control now. Fleur still needed him.

"But she's alright?" he finally managed ask through his clenched jaw.

Harry looked back at him, running a hand through his messy hair.

"She will be," he said in what he hoped was a confident voice.

When Bill's stare hadn't left him, he sighed and continued.

"I mean it's shite what happened to her. She won't let herself be healed," he intoned sadly. "She won't speak to anyone. They say she hasn't eaten since the attack. When I tried to get close enough to look at her injuries, she sent a hex at me."

"Harry!" Ginny shot a disapproving look in his direction. He didn't care if she thought he should soften the blow. If it had been him sitting there waiting to hear what happened to her, he would have held whatever unfortunate messenger had come at wandpoint until he knew everything.

"Injuries?"

Again, Harry braced himself to give the brutal news.

"She's…. she's a little hard to recognize. She has… well… all her hair is gone… and… she's… well her face is… cut. Some bruises… eyes and such…"

Bill swallowed hard. Twice.

"Take me to her," he said firmly.

"Bill…" it was Ginny. "You should give her some time…"

"How long, Gin? Until she starves? Until she finds out I'm alive but I haven't gone to her? Take me to her now."

Harry nodded contemplatively a couple times before going to Kreacher.

"Take us to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Ginny, stay here with Parvati – we'll be back soon."

* * *

"No, we _cannot_ move the cabinet here, Ronald!"

"Just hear me out! It could work-"

"Maybe I need to explain it differently. It is _not_ workable, _not_ viable, _not_ doable, _not_ an option and in all other ways _not_ _possible_!"

Hermione's voice was dripping with sarcasm and her face looked flushed with frustration and flat out anger. He didn't know what her problem was. This was a good idea. It made sense - it would make things easier. It _was_ possible. Anyway, he needed this. Malfoy had saved her and Ginny. Harry had helped them all to escape. Zabini had helped cast the wards around the kitchens. Neville had been a source of friendship and comfort to everyone. Terry… had… well, never mind Terry. It was time for him to show that he was useful too.

"Of course it's possible! Why shouldn't Kreacher be able to move the bloody cabinet here? He can transport _people_ – that's way more complex!"

Immediately, something nagged at him. People _weren't_ more complex – he should have remembered that from _The King With a Screw Loose_. It was children's story they told at Apparition practice. A man set out to convince a country he was their king. Once his scheme was accomplished, he apparated his meager furniture into his new palace, but because he had worked too quickly, one of the screws in his dinner chair had been left behind. In the end, he was stabbed through the heart as the chair collapsed from his weight. Ron hated that story. The king should have ordered the peasants to make him new furniture as a show of loyalty or something. Anyhow, the lesson was that living creatures were one single form, and inanimate objects were made up of many different forms. The cabinet was probably made of several different trees and metal from who knows where…

"You're talking about a fucking _magical_ item that's already been broken apart and put back together by _magic_."

He hadn't expected Zabini to chime in on this topic, so he didn't have a good comeback handy.

"If one fucking splinter is missing from that thing, it'll never work - but you want to break it down into its magical elements and hope it appears on the other side in one fucking piece?"

Ron was furious – he could feel himself losing credibility. In an attempt to silence the Slytherin, he shot a hex that would cause Zabini's lips to fuse together.

"Protego," Harry countered, and the hex bounced harmlessly off the shield.

Zabini rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like …_fucking pathetic…_ before stalking off to sit with Malfoy.

"Like I said," Hermione continued in an irritated tone, "_Not_ possible."

He stomped closer to her, angrily.

"Why the hell don't you ever stand up for me anymore?"

"If you had better arguments, you wouldn't need me to."

"Oh, that's right. You're the Girl-Who-Lived-To-Know-It-All. You're so bloody irritating when you act like this."

"Gosh, Ron, I would hate to think I was irritating you," she said sarcastically.

Damn it! He was sick of being the coward, sick of being wrong, and sick of being spoken to like an annoying child. He deserved some bloody respect. It's not like anyone had come looking for _him. _He was sure he hadn't been the first one in this group to be wrong about something. It wasn't his fault that tensions were running high right now, so it wasn't fair that they were all taking it out on him!

"You know what, Hermione? If this is how it's going to be between us, maybe we'd be better off apart."

_Yeah, alright, it was a bluff. But damn it all to hell, what else was he supposed to do? At least now Hermione would have to be nice to him. _

She just looked at him for a moment with an emotion he couldn't quite identify.

"Apart then," she said firmly.

_What?_

"What?"

"I said 'apart.'"

She offered no explanation - no elaboration. She wouldn't even look at him.

"Right. Fine, then. Apart."

_What the hell? Hermione never knew how to bluff… now what? Calm – just be calm – she'll be back. She just wants me to be the first to cave… Let her cool off. She'll be back – wouldn't want to end up like her mum._

Hermione had told them a few years ago that her parents had gotten something called a _divort_. She had had to explain that it meant the dissolution of marriage vows. The idea had been completely foreign to him coming from the family he had, and he had almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all, but Harry had caught his attention and had given him a threatening look.

More than anything, he believed that Hermione was afraid of ending up like her mum – alone. And if she needed more persuasion to get back together, he could always drop hints about being there for her when it was time to get her parents out of hiding.

She had moved her parents to Australia to keep them safe, but she had only recently told him and Harry what else she had done. She had hidden her parents _together_. She had given them a life together the only way she could: against their will. In their minds, they were madly in love once more, but when the time came to restore their true memories, she said they would never trust her again.

* * *

When Bill caught the first glimpse of his wife, he had to fight to appear composed. She looked as though she had been healed to _some_ extent. Her face looked… almost lined… due to several red marks… _Merlin, those must have been the cuts…_ Her face when she saw him was one of shock and shame.

"Aucun Guillame, veuillez ne partir."  
_No Bill, please leave._

"Je ne partirai pas. Je ne peux pas partir. Pas sans toi."  
_I won't leave. I can't leave. Not without you. _

"Si je te disais la vérité vous me laisseriez."  
_If I told you the truth you would leave me._

"La vérité ne peut pas me blesser."  
_The truth can't hurt me._

"Vous avez tort. La vérité est la seule chose qui peut vous blesser."_  
You're wrong. It's the only thing that can._

Tears had begun to stream down her face, unchecked.

"Je t'aime, Fleur. Rien n'a pu changer cela."_  
I love you, Fleur. Nothing could change that._

"Vous ne me voulez pas, Guillame. Je ne suis pas… Je ne suis pas propre."  
_You don't want me, Bill. I'm not… I'm not clean._

At this, he dropped to his knees beside her, still not daring to touch her.

"Fleur… Je sais ce qui s'est produit… ce n'était pas votre défaut…"_  
Fleur… I know what happened… it wasn't your fault._

Her eyes snapped frantically to his, questioning him.

"Je vous ai dit. Je t'aime. Rien n'a pu changer cela. Rien._"  
I told you. I love you. Nothing could change that. Nothing._

"Vous ne pouvez pas m'aimer. Pas après ce qui s'est produit"_  
Bill, you can't love me. Not after what happened. _

"Je s¸aurois maugré vous et voz complexions, je vous aimerai."_  
In spite of yourself, against your will, I will love you._

He reached his hand out and tentatively caressed her cheek. She heaved one great sob before falling forward into his arms.

"But I am 'ideous"

He looked at her tenderly before chuckling softly.

"There was a time my family thought you'd rather not marry me because of _my_ looks."

She looked at him warmly, remembering how much she wanted him to know she still loved him.

"Don't worry, Love, I am good-looking enough for us both, I theenk," he said imitating her accent with a wry smile.

His chest tightened as he saw the loveliness of her face. Her mouth was curved into a soft smile.

"How can you think you're not beautiful?" he breathed.

He pulled her closer, protectively, vowing never to let her go again.


	10. Worth Your Love

**Chapter 10**

**Worth Your Love**

It _must_ have been a scare-tactic. Weasley _had_ to be bluffing! Gods, he suddenly felt like he was watching a performance he'd already seen – he _knew_ how this ended. He _loved_ this ending!

Every nerve drew tight as she looked at Weasley for a long moment.

"Apart, then."

And there it was! He could hear the proverbial fat lady singing. He felt like applauding. He felt like jumping to his feet and shouting _encore!_

"What?"

"I said 'apart.'"

Cue the curtain. The woman deserved a fucking medal! He was fighting not to grin like an idiot. Then he turned to see Blaise grinning like an idiot. He had forgotten that quite apart from having a stake in this scene, seeing Weasley humiliated was _always_ a cause for glee. So leaning back in his seat, he folded his hands behind his head in satisfaction… and grinned for all he was worth.

* * *

According to the routine, Draco was apparated to the cabinet first, Hermione second.

"That was fucking brilliant," he said, still grinning.

"I didn't do it for you," she said edgily.

"I don't really care. I'd think that was brilliant if we hated each other!"

"Let's get to work," she said flatly.

"Let's celebrate!" he said cheerfully.

"Stop it!" she said, snapping. "I just hurt someone I care about! Hurting someone isn't as _fucking brilliant _for me as you seem to think_,_ and watching it happen shouldn't be cause for celebration!"

"Hermione…" he said, his voice becoming soft.

"Please just leave me alone."

"No," he said, moving to stand in front of her. "Not now."

"Malfoy-"

"Don't call me that," he said, looking down at her face, and reaching out one of his hands to hold hers.

"Draco…"

But she couldn't finish because now one hand was cupping her face, pulling her mouth to meet his. She tried to resist, but the moment his lips touched hers, she knew she had lost. This kiss was different than the first. The first kiss had been full of passion and urgency. This kiss was soft and unhurried, and incredibly sensual.

"Hermione…" he breathed against her mouth. "I shouldn't need this," he gestured to the two of them holding onto each other.

"I'm not supposed to need this from _anyone_, let alone someone like you."

She stiffened in his embrace, but he had to keep going – she had to hear everything.

"My family has tried to kill you. You've been held prisoner in my home. I can't promise that there aren't any Death Eaters out there waiting in the shadows. And everyone thinks I'm one of them."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because these are the obstacles you wouldn't have had with him," he said quietly. "And there seem to be a lot of them."

She could feel the warmth surrounding her draining away and braced herself as he took a deep breath. She wasn't prepared for the smirk she saw – it was a ghost of his old smug self-satisfaction.

"But I swear I'm worth it," he said raising his eyebrows and grinning at her, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She couldn't help but laugh as the tension broke. Before she had time to respond, he had lowered his lips to hers again, and she was too intoxicated to think. _This is what kisses should feel like – this is what everything should feel like._

* * *

Harry was tired. He was tired of uncertainty. He was tired of horrific discoveries. He was tired of dealing with other people's problems. He was tired of being responsible, somehow, for everyone around him. He was tired of being -this close- to his girlfriend day and night and not being able to have so much as a private conversation with her (not that he'd choose to have a _conversation_ if they ever got some privacy).

At the moment, he was especially tired of Ron's incessant grumbling. Why did he have to give Hermione such a ridiculous ultimatum? Harry had suspected for quite a while that she didn't like Ron as anything but a friend. He had been hoping the past year would bring them closer together, and had been thrilled when he saw Hermione kiss him, thinking that all was well again. No such luck, of course. Ron had messed everything up when he left without them. And now he wouldn't shut up about _she'll be back_ and _what does she think she'll prove_?

So when a house elf from one of the common rooms appeared in order to stock up on food, he jumped at the opportunity.

"I'm going to check on the progress at the vanishing cabinet," he said to no one in particular, walking to the elf. He caught Ginny trying to hide a grin, and was relieved she could read between the lines. He loved that about her.

"I'll come with you, mate," Ron said, getting up to follow him.

"Ron, don't even think about forcing yourself into the same room as Hermione after what just happened!" Ginny said, irritated.

"What are you talking about? Forcing-"

But Harry didn't hear the rest. He was so relieved that Ginny was taking the reins on this that he simply fled. He laughed at himself for a split-second, thinking that he was escaping to a room with Malfoy in it and he _still_ felt relieved to be going.

The relief was short-lived.

* * *

Harry's first reaction was shock. He had never thought of Malfoy as… _blech… _as _that_. And yet there he was, arms wrapped _intimately_ around his friend (who he also tried to imagine as an asexual being). He walked forward a few steps, crunching over some broken glass, and watched the two of them spring apart.

It was a moment before anyone spoke.

"What. The. _Hell?!_" was all Harry could manage to stammer out.

* * *

Initial explanations hadn't gotten the three of them very far.

The fact was that Harry couldn't get past Malfoy. _Malfoy_ of all bloody people! Gods, he was so damned tired of rotten surprises.

"But she's a _mudblood_ to your lot! You're telling me that all just went away? Hermione do you seriously think you can trust him?"

"Fuck off, Potter," Malfoy said flatly, "_Your lot_ hasn't exactly given her a lot to trust in lately."

At this Harry turned to Hermione, pleading.

"Why _him_? I knew you didn't love Ron, but _why_, of all people, _him_?!"

"You knew I didn't love Ron?"

This was not answering his question.

"Why _him_?!" he demanded, his voice raising half an octave.

"Would you rather I stay with Ron and be unhappy?" she snapped back at him.

"Gods, this has _got_ to be against rules and plans and everything good and right in the world."

"To hell with your rules and plans, Potter. There isn't a fucking lot good and right in the world just now."

"What are _you_ getting out of this Malfoy? Are you worried about amnesty once we get out of here? _I'll_ clear your name – you don't have to do this to-"

Suddenly Malfoy was inches away from him, clearly restraining himself from physical violence.

"_Fuck you,_ _Potter_."

"Look, I'm not trying to be an ass, here…"

_("You don't have to try…")_

"I'm _trying_ to make sure one of my best friends doesn't get hurt!"

The three of them glared at each other until he couldn't stand it. He stomped dramatically to the couch and threw himself down on it. He was so bloody tired of _people_.

"You had better have a plan for moving forward, because I sure as hell don't know what to do about this."

Hermione had obviously taken this as a positive turn of events, letting out a breath of relief.

"Thank you, Harry," she said.

"Thank you? Do you have any idea what you've done, Hermione?" he asked incredulously. "You've very likely broken up a friendship that has lasted over seven years and you've put me in the middle – not to mention Ginny and all your other friends. You're going to make people choose sides here."

"Draco is on _our_ side."

"You're making them choose between Ron's friendship and yours, and Ron doesn't come as a package deal with a Death Eater."

"I don't know what to say. They'll have to accept that this is my choice."

There was silence between them now. Harry still didn't know what to do. It was a situation he wished he could just erase.

"What now?" Hermione asked no one in particular.

"How the hell should I know? Ron's been in love with you for seven bloody years. You don't just come back from something like that!"

"He left her to die, forgave himself against her will, and then broke up with her!" Malfoy said angrily.

Harry shook his head, knowing it was all true, and wishing he could somehow change it.

"He won't forgive you for this. He'll hate you forever, Malfoy – and he'll love her longer… if only out of spite."

"Potter, if those are my biggest problems in life, I'll be doing alright."

Silence fell as the shock of the situation evolved into something more permanent.

"The cabinet," Harry said flatly, staring straight ahead at a wall.

"It'll take more time," Hermione said.

"How long?"

"At least another week."

It was Malfoy who answered this time, and somehow, Harry couldn't help himself.

"You'd get more done if you didn't work together _so closely_."

"That's right, Potter. We're both so fucking keen to be in the same building with possessed creatures that we're trying to stretch this out."

"My mistake – how could I have thought you were taking _anything_ slowly down here?"

"Enough!" Hermione shouted.

But Harry was still angry and annoyed.

"I'll let you two get back to the important work I walked in on."

Hermione followed him to where the house elf stood waiting.

"Harry – what will you tell the others?"

Harry laughed derisively.

"The others? Break the bad news yourself. I'm not saying a word."

* * *

Harry was angry for days. He kept waiting for Malfoy and Hermione to share their unfortunate relationship with the others. He wanted to have others to commiserate with, and he needed to gauge how Ron would react. To his disappointment, Hermione had sat down with Ron and had a long heart to heart about _just being friends _(she didn't know that Ron planned to gradually re-establish their relationship under the guise of renewed friendship). _Gradual_, Ron had told him, was the key. Introduce the idea slowly and she'll never know what hit her.

Unfortunately, Malfoy had the same idea. And it seemed to be working. At first, he and Hermione had begun sitting together. No one raised any eyebrows because, after all, they already had to work together repairing the cabinet. When people saw them talking together, they didn't blink an eye. Of _course_ they would have bonded to some degree spending so much time together. And now, when the two laughed and smiled, the others wanted to join in the conversation too.

For Merlin's sake. Why couldn't everyone just hate Malfoy the way he did? The way he had for seven years? Life was simpler with clear friends and enemies. But Harry supposed nothing would be simple anymore.

Ron, for his part, was oblivious. He was so focused on his 'master plan' for him and Hermione that he wouldn't have noticed a tap-dancing spider. As far as he was concerned, his plan was working beautifully. He laughed and chatted and was in all ways charming whenever he was around her. She laughed and chatted and in all ways seemed to be taking the bait. She was always cheerful now – always smiling and positive – and she didn't even realize that her newfound brightness was due to spending time with him. She didn't even suspect! Give it one more week and he thought he could sneak in a kiss to get things right back on track again.


	11. No Girls Allowed

**Chapter 11**

**No Girls Allowed**

It had been three weeks since the first attacks. Three weeks of bickering and bonding among the kitchen survivors. Three weeks of hope resting solely on the splinters in the Slytherin Common Room. Three weeks since Hermione Granger had begun to fall for Draco Malfoy.

The vanishing cabinet, for all intents and purposes, was finished. The entire group of survivors had met in the Gryffindor Common Room to discuss their options, but came up short on possibilities. Even if Malfoy and Hermione had been completely confident in the cabinet's restored abilities (which they weren't), there was still no telling where the other one was. All Malfoy could keep telling them was _it's probably nowhere close to where your lot would want to end up._ That was less than reassuring. By the end of the meeting, there were more questions than answers, and the group had dissolved. They would meet again tomorrow. Unfortunately they hadn't bargained on tonight.

* * *

They had expected it eventually, of course, but they were caught off guard nonetheless. They had suddenly heard scuffling movements just outside the corridor that led to the kitchens. The survivors had heard _them_ getting close to their little hallway before, of course… but they had always swept past during their searches – maybe this would be another of those fortunate escapes.

They still lacked a solid plan to see where the cabinet led, or if it even worked, but suddenly, it seemed like their hands might be forced. They listened breathlessly to the probing movements of the creatures, knowing how easily they could be trapped. They waited. Silent. Terrified.

_CRACK_

It was the sound of wood splintering against hooves and horns. They were still quite some distance from the sound – the kitchens were concealed behind one of the last doors in this hallway. But the outcome was suddenly inevitable. Someone would have to try the cabinet, regardless of the consequences, or they would all die.

Within seconds, plans began to fly about the room, each one more far-flung than the next. Harry told Kreacher to be ready to apparate anyone at a moment's notice. Boot shouted out something about drawing straws, which everyone latched onto quickly.

"Yes, of course!" said Ginny, as she began a frantic search of the kitchens for straws or string or anything else they could draw from.

Harry's face changed immediately.

"Sorry, Gin," he said darkly. "Terry just meant for the men in the group to draw, didn't you?"

Terry quailed at the threatening look he was receiving.

"'Course," he said at once.

Even Neville nodded his head vigorously, having seen Harry's face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she replied heatedly, her face flushed with resentment. "Everyone here is _more_ than capable of taking care of themselves."

Hermione moved to stand beside Ginny, arms crossed. Draco could see the tops of nine popsicle sticks clutched in one of her hands.

"Sorry," Harry replied in a voice that was deathly quiet, "No girls allowed."

Draco moved to stand behind Potter with _his_ arms crossed as he narrowed his eyes at Hermione. Weasley had stood up, too.

"Yeah, no girls allowed," Ron echoed.

"Guess you're out of the draw then, Weasley," Draco muttered tauntingly in a tone only he could hear.

Ron rounded on Draco.

_CRACK_

The group was jolted into silence. _They_ were working their way down the hall, methodically, door by door.

"Fine, no drawing for us," Hermione said. Her voice had the smallest hint of trembling, but she had taken a defiant step forward. "We _volunteer_."

Ginny's eyes lit up with determination and her mouth pressed into a grim line as she nodded once in agreement.

"We haven't got the fucking time for this, Granger," Draco said angrily. "You _know_ where I think the other one is! If they get their hands on you…"

"I don't care who or what you think is waiting for us, Draco," she said, cutting him off. "We can defend ourselves."

"Not if you're outnumbered!" Harry countered heatedly.

"We're better fighters than they are!" Ginny said angrily.

"They're more dangerous than you – they're angry and they're desperate!" Draco shouted back.

"_We_ are desperate! All of us! And _I'm_ getting angry!" Hermione yelled at him.

Draco closed the distance between them in two strides. She had never realized exactly how tall he was until he was standing there, an angry inch away from her, looking down piercingly into her eyes.

"If there _are_ Death Eaters on the other side of that cabinet, or even supporters…!"

Draco took a breath to bring his temper into check.

"These people kill and torture for _fun_, and right now, they are looking for a way – _any_ way - to take their revenge. If they got their hands on Harry Potter's mudblood friend and his future wife, let me assure you they would take vengeance to its fullest measure."

"Draco-"

"You'd be damaged in every _possible_ way. They would torture you… they would rape you… they would tear you apart. And then they would heal your wounds and start again."

Draco's breathing was uneven, and he looked haunted by what he was saying. He looked ill. It affected her more than she could say.

"Ask me if I'm lying, Hermione… ask me if I've seen them do it," he sounded as though the air had been crushed from his lungs. "I won't let it happen to you."

She reached up to touch a loose strand of his hair, but Draco had pulled her into his arms before she could reach for him. He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her deeply.

The others were frozen in place. Even Weasley stood with his mouth agape, watching the scene unfold before him.

_CRACK_

The time to act was now.

Harry took Ginny's hand in his, hoping to melt her resolve, but she turned away from him, still angry at the discrimination she was facing.

"Ginny," he said seriously. "I won't let you go. I can't. I'm sorry."

The group fell into silent agreement for a single moment before the stillness was broken by violent scuffling. Weasley had snapped out of his horrified shock and rammed into Draco, full force, taking them both to the floor.

Draco was more than willing to fight Weasley, but this was _not_ the time for it. The creatures _would_ try the door to the kitchens the same as they were trying the others.

Potter and the rest of the males in the group rushed to pull the two apart.

"Ron, we don't have time for this!" Potter said, his anger quickly turning to dread, but no one heard him.

In fact no one heard the faint 'pop' of Kreacher apparating out of the room.

"You bastard! Stay away from her!" Weasley snarled as he continued to lunge at Draco despite the hands trying to hold him back.

"That's my fucking line now, Weasel," he said angrily.

"She's _mine_!"

"For fuck's sake. You dumped her – we all fucking saw it, remember?" Blaise chimed in, incredibly annoyed with this argument in the face of imminent danger.

"Everyone knows I was joking! Everyone knows we were getting back together! We've been getting closer all week!"

"So have we," Draco said, leaving it up for interpretation.

"That's enough, Malfoy!" Potter shouted. "We've got to get out of here!"

_CRACK_

As though to punctuate his point, they heard the creatures break open one of the few remaining doors that separated them.

_Everyone_ heard the second 'pop' as Kreacher returned alone.

Draco's panicked gazed flew to Kreacher for an instant before searching desperately for Hermione. He was startled to find her close by, her own shocked face fixed on the wrinkled house elf. He blinked several times, as though clearing his vision, reassuring himself that she was still there.

"Fuck!" Potter shouted suddenly. His voice was a mixture of fury and terror. He charged toward Kreacher and pulled him up off the floor desperately.

"Take me to the cabinet, NOW!"

In the next instant, he and the house elf had vanished.

"Ginny!" Hermione whispered sounding devastated as full realization swept over her.

"Kreacher!" Draco shouted into the silence.

The house elf appeared in front of him. He turned toward Hermione.

"Don't follow us through," he said firmly. "We'll come back for you if it's safe."

His eyes lingered on her face a moment longer, knowing how many different deaths could await him.

"Kreacher, take me to the Slytherin Common Room, and then get the others out of here!"

* * *

It was a worse feeling than Harry could have imagined. He had arrived in the empty Slytherin Common Room, and knew she had already used the cabinet. He knew what could happen if it wasn't working properly. He knew what would happen if the other cabinet was broken. He knew what lay waiting for her if the cabinet was where Malfoy remembered. He cursed loudly as angry tears pricked at his eyes, and charged toward the cabinet, wand drawn, hoping against everything that the woman he loved was alive.

* * *

Draco had arrived in the Slytherin Common Room in time to see the doors of the cabinet swing shut and knew that Potter had just vanished within. He steeled himself as he looked at the dark wooden doors, fighting against the thought of the instant death that could lie there. But there was nothing for it. He broke out into a run, trying to distance himself from the fear instead, and flung himself headlong into the darkness and what lay beyond.

* * *

In his hurry through the cabinet, Draco had run headlong into Potter at the other side. When he recovered from the impact and had a moment to look around him, he froze instantly. He wasn't in Borgin and Burkes as he had expected. He was home.

A new set of fears confronted him. Had _all_ the Death Eaters gone with Voldemort to Hogwarts? Was this just another trap laid by Voldemort and his followers? Were c_reatures_ hunting Ginny Weasley?

Potter was staring at Draco. He, too, had recognized this place, and seemed to be waiting to be told what direction to go. Draco's mind worked quickly.

"Ravvi!" he whispered into the silence.

A tattered and trembling house elf appeared before him with a 'pop.'

"Oh, Master Draco!" she half squeaked, half whispered. "There is intruders in the house, Master Draco!"

His heart sank.

"How many?" he demanded.

"Two, sir. A man and a girl."

The next moment he heard a piercing scream of pain that had Potter rushing for the door in front of him.

"_RAVVI, LOCK THE MAN IN THE DUNGEONS AND BRING THE GIRL BACK HERE, NOW!"_

Potter stopped in his tracks, turning frantically to watch the elf disappear before wheeling on Draco.

"If she's hurt," he rasped, but his voice was agonized, not threatening. "If that man's one of yours…"

Draco didn't respond. His eyes were fixed firmly on the spot his family's elf had vanished.

He was rewarded several moments later when Ravvi returned with her arms thrown over the limp body of Ginny Weasley. Potter gave an anguished cry before gathering her in his arms gingerly. All of her hair was gone and parts of her scalp and neck were bleeding where she had been made to claw at herself with her own fingernails. Draco shuddered as guilty relief surged through him that he was not kneeling on the floor clutching an unconscious Hermione in his arms.

"Ravvi has the Manor been attacked by animals?"

"Yes, Master Draco, but Ravvi makes it safe," she said in her high pitched voice, gesturing to the single window in the room that was covered over by one of the several closet doors in the house.

"Who did this to her?" Potter ground out, looking icily at the elf.

Ravvi looked to Draco, who nodded, before answering.

"Ravvi sees him twice before in this house, but she doesn't know his name. He is going with…. with… he is going with…"

"The Dark Lord?" Draco said, easing the elf's discomfort.

"Yes, Master Draco. He is going with _him_ to Hogwart's. He says this man is helpful to him with information. He says he rewards this man to take anyone at the school."

Potter's jaw clenched, and Draco knew his mind, too, had jumped to Fleur Weasley.

"How did he get back here?" Draco demanded.

"He comes as a bird, sir," Ravvi replied.

"He comes… what?"

"He comes as a bird, sir," Ravvi repeated, simply. Seeing her Master's confused gaze, she tried to continued on more descriptively. "A very _large_ bird, sir."

"He got into the Manor as a bird," Draco repeated dumbly, not understanding the poor elf's attempt.

"No, Master Draco, sir! Ravvi doesn't let him in as a bird! She thinks he is one of the animals attacking again, but he knocks on the door as a man."

"He's… an Animagus?" Potter asked through clenched teeth, and the pieces fell together in Draco's mind. How else could he have made the journey from Hogwarts to Wiltshire without being harmed?

"A bird," she said. And then chancing another look at her Master, continued expressively. "A _large_ bird, sir."


	12. Malfoy Manor

**Chapter 12**

**Malfoy Manor**

Ginny Weasley didn't dare move or open her eyes. He must be close – she could hear someone breathing very close to her. Mentally checking over her body, she almost sobbed in relief that her clothing seemed intact. He hadn't defiled her. Not yet. But she could feel her soft surroundings and knew she was in a bed. She surely didn't have long.

She listened intently for a full minute before deciding that whoever was beside her was breathing too deeply to be awake. Slowly – carefully – she opened her eyelids a fraction, but was aggravated to find that she couldn't see anything from her position on the bed. Before she could decide on her next move, she heard him take a deep, waking breath and felt him move beside her. She was terrified – frozen in place. It was his touch that kick started her self-defense instincts. He had strewn an arm across her body, and she knew this was her best and only chance to act. She threw her elbow sideways as hard as she could and heard a satisfying _crack_. There was a loud cry of shock and pain, but she didn't wait to see the damage she had done. She had bolted away from him in an instant and vaulted from the foot of the bed. She had her hand on the handle…

"Giddy," he said, holding his broken and bloody nose, "Giddy wait! You're stafe."

Looking back in shock, Ginny saw Harry looking at her through pained features. The next moment saw Bill burst through the door, wand drawn.

She looked from Bill to Harry slowly before breaking down into tears.

"I'm… sorry," she sobbed. "He stunned me from behind and… he took my wand… and he… he was trying… he hurt Fleur too. He was trying to…"

Harry was at her side in a moment, holding her in one arm while gesturing for Bill to do something about his nose. As soon as he could speak properly, he murmured what he hoped were comforting words while rocking her gently in his arms.

"You're safe, love... it'll be alright… it'll be alright… all that matters is you're safe..."

Back and forth - her head on his shoulder – they swayed until her breathing evened out. At last, Ginny gazed softly up at Harry, her eyes asking once more for forgiveness.

Bill would check on his sister later. This moment was theirs, and he had been waiting to "check in" on the bird demon in the dungeons since they had arrived in the Manor.

* * *

Hermione had waited in the Slytherin Common Room staring at the dark wooden doors in agony for nearly an hour. She had convinced herself several times over that if Draco, Harry or Ginny were still alive, they would have come back already. No one had spoken. No one had dared to say aloud what hung heavily in the silence.

When she had seen Draco emerge from the cabinet unharmed, her legs had buckled beneath her and she had stayed kneeling on the floor as he addressed them all. The other cabinet, he had told them, was at Malfoy Manor. He had assured them that the place had been searched and was completely safe. The creatures' attacks on the Manor, it seemed, had tapered off after the first few days. He had also told the group that there were beds and food in plenty at the Manor and proposed moving all the survivors there at once. Despite the initial reactions that had followed his statements, his proposal was eventually (if grudgingly) agreed upon. Kreacher had been dispatched to gather the others at the cabinet and one by one, they had found themselves in the former headquarters of Lord Voldemort.

Although no one was thrilled by the situation, Draco seemed the most grim of them all. He hadn't spoken to Hermione since they had come back through the cabinet. He wouldn't even look in her direction.

When she saw him slip away from the group, she followed him, hoping to give him some sort of comfort, but as she neared the door he had entered, she could hear him deep in conversation with someone. Creeping closer, she could see that the door was open just a crack. Draco's outline was leaning against an imposing desk.

"Ravvi," she heard him say in a low voice. "Can you hear your masters call you even if you can't reach them?"

"Yes, Master Draco," she replied sadly.

"Did… did anyone call you? Recently?" his voice was anxious, full of hope and dread.

"Master Lucius calls for Ravvi the day of the animals, sir. Ravvi could not go to him… Ravvi has punished herself most severely, sir."

"And… and since then?" his voice was anguished now.

She could hear the little elf sniff.

"Ravvi thinks she belongs only to Master Draco now," she said sorrowfully.

She could see Draco swallow hard, blinking back the inevitable tears. He nodded his head three times, trying to take deep breaths.

"Why is the vanishing cabinet here, Ravvi?"

"Mistress has it brought once you goes to school, Master Draco. She thinks you might need it, sir."

Something inside of Draco was breaking – his mother's death was painful – his mother's love was more than he could bear.

"She wanted to give me a way home," his said hoarsely.

Hermione watched him sadly – a strong man bent over in pain, fighting for control of the storm within. She watched him achingly, as the battle was lost and tears streamed unchecked across his beautiful face. He pressed his fists against his brow and clenched his teeth as silent sobs wracked his body… And she watched him, heartbroken.

She knew he wouldn't accept her comfort if she went to him now – he couldn't. He needed this time for himself.

* * *

An entire mansion to explore, and the expanded group of survivors had congregated in the kitchen. The irony wasn't lost on them - it was just the least evil-feeling room in the Manor. As the house elves bustled around, creating a small feast, the group huddled together, talking and laughing nervously.

Looking around, Anthony Goldstein asked no one in particular: "Where's Malfoy? Checking on the skeletons in his closet, d'you think?"

A few people snickered, but the many in the kitchen group, having become acquaintances (if not friends) with Malfoy, glared at him.

"What? I just-"

"WHO?" demanded a furious Bill Weasley as he crashed through the kitchen doors.

The group all stared at him, stunned.

"Who killed him?!" he shouted at them.

"Wha-?" _"…killed…?"_ "Who's been…?"

"It was _my_ right," he said through clenched teeth. "Death was too quick for someone like him! It was my right to question him, to torture him, to do as I saw fit with him!"

By now, the group understood. The man in the dungeons must be dead.

"It was not your right to kill him, Bill," Fleur said quietly. "It was mine."

* * *

Muggle scientists were baffled. The Ministry had a team of Obliviators working on those scientists, but truth be told, the Ministry was baffled too. As far as it could be worked out, Hogwarts had been the epicenter of the bizarre animal occurrence. The further away from Hogwarts the animals were, the less severe their aggression. Take the East coast of America for example – the pets were decidedly ill-tempered that day, and there was a record amount of bird waste on cars and people (although the muggles simply _would_ _not _believe that the birds were targeting them). There were even a few zoo animals that had snapped at their trainers. All in all, though, the Americans had failed to notice the event entirely.

In London and other large cities in the UK, magical and non-magical creatures alike had attacked humans aggressively for three days. On the fourth day, they could be seen milling about aimlessly in public places, intent only on grazing, roosting, dozing, and doing everything that animals were meant to do. Massive cover stories had been publicized in the muggle media. Everything had been reported from anti-government activists releasing zoo animals to 'scientists' discussing the finer points of animal mating rituals. There was even a muggle theory floating around that genetically modified animal feed was the culprit, prompting a boycott on all such products lest the same behavior surface in humans. In the smaller muggle communities, the Ministry had called for all witches and wizards to help modify memories in their own areas. Thankfully, the muggles were ready either to accept the far-fetched Ministry stories or create one for themselves. No one had cried "magic."

The temporary Minister of Magic thought that, on the whole, things could have been worse. Dawlish hadn't wanted to be Minister of anything – temporary or not. He'd had just a few too many runs of bad luck, and he was not keen to have a Minister-sized target on his chest. Especially not in times like these! But here he was sitting in the damned chair, sending the damned owls, and answering too many damned questions. The fact was that no one had bothered trying to imperius him (by which, he was slightly offended), and he was one of the only Aurors who had not gone to fight at Hogwarts (for which, he was very relieved). With the public clamor about trust, and the need for order and action… well, there you have it. Minister Dawlish, at your service.

Although things had begun to achieve some level of normalcy in the weeks following the animal attacks, one point still concerned him exceedingly. Hogwarts evacuees had reported that they left on the brink of a battle between Harry Potter's supporters and Voldemort's forces. But no one had heard of any survivors out of the Hogwarts battle, and a large number of Hogsmede residents were missing too. The Ministry was able to deduce from the large numbers saying they suspected they had been imperiused, and the cooperation of the Dementors, that Voldemort was dead. They could only hope it was for good this time.

Dawlish had sent scouts by apparation to Hogsmede, but they reported back that they had all been transported to different locations, none of them remotely close to the village or the school. They kept trying, both by apparation and by broom, but in the two weeks they had been trying, not one scouting party had been successful. It seemed that no matter how seasoned the fliers or how sound their navigation, no one could find Hogsmede _or_ Hogwarts. No one could even get close.

So when 107 Hogsmede residents and Hogwarts survivors apparated into the Ministry, Dawlish was overcome with emotion. He was overjoyed that there were, in fact, survivors, but he was dismayed that there were so few. He was bewildered that they were suddenly able to apparate after weeks of failed attempts (and immediately sent a scouting party back). Most of all, he was gravely disappointed that no one knew what had become of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Had Lived _Again._

It was a chaotic day, full of reuniting students with parents, finding temporary housing for displaced residents, and releasing several carefully-worded owls to the press. The Minister had not had so much to do since he was first thrust into office. He was relieved to see the day come to a close, and was preparing to retire when a Ministry aide burst through his door in a state of great agitation.

"Suetonius Black, sir!" he exclaimed.

"What in Merlin's-"

"He wants to speak to you sir – he says-"

"Please tell Mr. Black that it will have to wait until-"

"He says it's about Harry Potter, sir!"

"What? Who is this Black?"

"His portrait's on level 8 sir! And he has another in Malfoy Manor."

The Minister took a deep breath, thinking that no good news had ever come out of Malfoy Manor.

"Very Well," he said, resigned.


	13. Suetonius Black

**Chapter 13**

**Suetonius Black**

"That is quite enough carrying on from you, boy!"

Draco whirled around, wand drawn, and heart pounding. He was facing a portrait.

"Suetonius," Draco sneered bad-temperedly.

Suetonius Black was one of those distant relatives with too many 'great-great-great's' in front to decipher the exact level of blood relation. He was a distinguished member of the Black family because, in his day, he had been Head of Prisoner _Persuasion_ for the Ministry.

"The weeping child dares to use my name so insolently!" scolded the portrait of Suetonius Black. "You will address me as Sir-"

"Or what? You'll be angry with me? That'd be bloody awful." Draco said, moving toward the door of the Study.

"Are you certain there is no reason to be respectful, boy? You're not bright enough to be a descendent of the Blacks…"

"In case you hadn't noticed, you arrogant ass, none of the Blacks were bright enough to stay clear of this fucking mess!" Draco gestured to the Manor as a whole, indicating everything it stood for.

"Ah, well, wisest of them all, why be so rude to a man with two portraits?"

Damn it. His other portrait still hung outside of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Suetonius Black was their key to information about the outside world, and possibly, their way back _into_ the outside world. Draco took a deep breath, knowing what it would cost him to be civil to a sharp-tongued, puffed-up, pureblood-driven, two-faced…

"My apologies… Sir," he said, gritting his teeth.

* * *

Draco marveled at the fact that they had been crouched in terror for three weeks as the rest of the continent had regained its momentum and normalcy. Hogwarts must have been the only place so affected. No, that wasn't true. Suetonius had told him about the Hogsmede survivors that had shown up earlier in the day.

Wait – the only way they could have made it to London safely was to apparate! Merlin! If people in Hogsmede could apparate, then certainly people in Wiltshire could apparate!

"Can we apparate into London?" he asked the portrait. "Is it safe?"

"All apparation points in London are very heavily policed at the moment," the portrait sniffed. "It would be best to remain here."

"What?"

"Unless that washes off," he pointed at Draco's arm, "I very much doubt you would be welcome at the moment. Fear not, though, someone worthy will take up the banner for Pureblood sovereignty some day. Perhaps you-"

"For fuck's sake, Suetonius. If that's what people think I am, I need to apparate straight to the Ministry to clear my fucking name."

"Quite right, quite right. Best to let things settle a bit before stirring them up again – gives people time to-"

"Stop," Draco said running a hand wearily across his face. "I need to think."

Draco and the portrait were locked in silence for a few moments.

"Suetonius, I need you to use your portrait at the Ministry to announce us so that they don't kill us on sight. In fact, I need you to ask permission for us to apparate – that should make it clear that we come peacefully…"

"As I said before, any request from you will certainly not be-"

"Then tell them that Harry Potter is the one requesting permission."

"Harry Potter?"

The portrait's face had become carefully neutral.

"He is here?"

"Bloody Saint Potter himself," Draco said unenthusiastically.

"That changes things considerably," the portrait said, his eyebrows rising appraisingly.

"Tell them that Harry Potter and a group of survivors… no – a group of _allies_… requests permission to apparate into the Ministry."

"Certainly," the portrait said, smiling. "At once."

* * *

The Minister felt too numb after the day's events to take in the portrait's demands. Demands, for Merlin's sake! Galleons and prisoner release and he didn't know what else!

Of all the damned things. Voldemort was dead and Harry Potter had been captured. He had hoped against hope that any remaining Death Eaters were dead, captured or so far into hiding that the Wizarding world would have many long years of peace. He hadn't reckoned on an 18-year-old wizard to put them all in jeopardy again. Draco Malfoy would regret this day for the rest of his (very short) life.


	14. Azkaban

**Chapter 14**

**Azkaban**

"Why do you keep coming?" he asked Potter wearily. "I'm a dangerous war criminal. I deserve to be here, remember?"

It had been 12 days since Draco Malfoy was first imprisoned in Azkaban.

The first few days had been almost unendurable. He had felt like his humanity was slowly ebbing away as horror upon horror replayed in his mind.

On the fourth day, he could suddenly think clearly again. He looked around him, shaking the despair from his bones and was shocked to see a pearly stag at the entrance to his cell.

_That's Potter's Patronus, _he thought_. He must be somewhere close by._

He looked through the tiny slit in the iron-bound door and saw him standing a few feet away facing the door on the other side of the hall. The cruel-faced warden of Azkaban was shuffling forward wagging his finger.

"You can't do a Patronus in here – I'll confiscate your wand!" the warden had said crossly.

"You are welcome to try," Potter said, turning to face him. He had put the full force of his celebrity into his tone.

The warden grimaced and began to walk away.

"You have two hours. Don't know what you're helping scum like that one for anyhow," he had muttered, indicating Draco's cell as he left. "He's a dangerous war criminal, he is. In here for a reason, you know."

When he had left, Potter turned to face his door.

"Malfoy?"

"What the hell is going on, Potter? Why'd they fucking jump on us like that? "

"We were all just released. We've all been through some intensive questioning-"

"Questioning! They never asked me a fucking thing!"

"Look we're trying to get you out of here, Malfoy-"

"Why the fuck am I _in_ here, Potter?"

He heard a half-sigh, half-groan outside the door.

"Your bloody portrait fed the Minister some story about you holding me for ransom…"

"I will fucking burn that house to the ground, I swear-"

"I'll help you do it, but until then, we're trying get the word out that you're… you know… a good guy now."

"Damn, Potter, that was convincing. Are you the fucking head of my popularity campaign?"

"There's gratitude for you," Potter had said, irritated.

"Yes, I'm in a fucking bad mood, Potter. I've been in this fucking place for four days without knowing why. I don't know when or if I'm getting out of here. Until 10 minutes ago, I was damn near convinced you'd all gotten on with your lives and left me here to fucking rot."

"The Minister was convinced we were under some sort of bewitchment. He kept us all isolated for the past three days, trying to find different ways to un-enchant us."

"Gosh, that sounds fucking awful-"

"Shut the bloody hell up, Malfoy! I was released two hours ago, and this is the first bloody place I came."

Silence.

"They let you come here after thinking I had bewitched you?"

"I'm not here to visit _you_, obviously. I'm here to visit whoever's across the hall from you."

More silence.

"I suppose… the others were too bloody scared of the Dementors to come?"

He had said it offhandedly – he had tried to at least.

"She hasn't been released yet," Potter mercifully answered his silent question.

"Even when she is, they won't let her within 100 miles of here. She was the most affected by the 'bewitchment,'" Potter said, and he could just hear his eyes roll.

This time the silence stretched between them for several minutes.

"Potter," he had said finally, "…thank you… for coming."

Twelve days later, and he was still no nearer to freedom than he had been the first. Potter and his life-sustaining Patronus had come every day.

"Why do you keep coming?" he had finally asked Potter today. "I'm a dangerous war criminal. I deserve to be in here, remember?"

There was silence on the other end of the door.

"What – is Granger making you come?"

"Did you know your mother saved my life?" Potter asked, shocking him.

"Voldemort thought he had killed me. He made her check to see if I was dead."

Draco could picture it in his mind, and he had to fight to remain composed.

"She must have felt my heart beating right away, but she leaned close and asked if you were still alive. She asked if you were in the castle. Then she told Voldemort I was dead because she knew it was the only way to get to you."

Draco clenched his teeth. He _would not_ lose it – not now.

"_That's_ why I'm here, Malfoy. If you'd rather I leave…"

"No," Draco said, and hated how weak his own voice sounded. Even with two hours of daily respite from the Dementors, he could feel himself breaking. A head full of horrific memories left him sunken in on himself by the time Potter got to him each day. He didn't know how much more his mind could take.

* * *

It had been 26 days since Malfoy was first imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry visited daily in an effort to keep him sane. He would bring news of the outside world. He would smuggle in chocolate as often as he could manage to ease the effects of the Dementors. And today, as he was leaving, he had handed Malfoy a letter from Hermione. It was a huge risk because a letter from Hermione wasn't like chocolate he could split with the guards. This was forbidden by Ministry decree. This was why they searched him so thoroughly every time he came. But she had begged him, swearing to keep the letter severely neutral in case it was found. She had said she needed to apologize to Malfoy. And she needed to let him know she was leaving. Of course she would have had to leave sooner or later. She just couldn't justify postponing the trip to Australia any longer – Malfoy's release… well, it might never come. Minister Dawlish, himself, refused to hear reason. _A Death Eater is a Death Eater_ he had said. And what could they say against that? As Malfoy had once told them: "I've got the fucking membership card right here, haven't I?"

And so he did the only thing he could. He became Malfoy's friend. He spent two hours each day facing an iron-bound door, talking about anything to take their minds off of the soulless demons just outside. Two hours each day talking about 'what next' and 'if I get out of here…' Two hours each day giving advice, offering opinions, telling jokes. Two hours each day discussing flying, career paths, losing their parents, keeping their humanity.

It was bizarre for Harry to be in this situation. Malfoy a friend and Ron a foe. He wished it were different, but how else could it have turned out?

None of the Hogwarts survivors talked to Ron much anymore. They had all lost respect for him. Harry tried desperately to overlook it all – he had tried to excuse his behavior. But in the end, he had felt the need to distance himself too.

He'd known it would be difficult to convince the Ministry of Malfoy's status as an ally. He'd had no way of knowing what that bloody portrait would do, but even then, things might have been salvageable if not for Ron.

Presented with no option but to believe the claims of a united group, perhaps the Ministry would have cleared Malfoy's name at once. But divided, things fell apart. Ron was the only one who didn't support the group's assertions, but he was angry and frustrated, and that made him the loudest of them all. The fact was that Ron's story was the one they wanted to hear. No matter that 14 others said Malfoy was no more of a Death Eater than they were. One voice was all it took.

_They've been bewitched! I was the only one to get a shield up in time – he thought he'd gotten me too! He's made them all think he's innocent, but he's not! I saw him kill Aurors during the Final Battle! I saw him attack students! _

One voice that said everything they needed to hear. And he still hadn't stopped talking.

* * *

_Draco,_

_I've started this letter so many times, but I can't think what to say to you._

_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry._

_I will never forgive Ron for keeping you trapped there. I will never forgive myself for not telling you goodbye before we left the Manor. _

_Draco, I'm leaving in the morning. I've done something terrible, and I must set it right. It will take some time. I can only pray that when I return, you will be free of that place._

_Hermione_

Well there went any hope he might have had of a fucking love letter. She had stripped everything of sentiment! Had writing _Dear_ Draco made her uncomfortable? Could she simply not stomach the thought of _Love, _Hermione? _Yours,_ Hermione? Gods, he would have taken a fucking _Sincerely_. He rubbed a rough palm against his face. It would have taken so little to give him some warmth in this eternally cold place. He had at least expected an '_I miss you.' _He had longed for anything that would tell him what to expect from her if he ever got out of here. His spirits had risen too much when that small envelope was shoved through the tiny slit in his door. He knew even less now than he did before. He didn't know where she was going. She hadn't even told him what terrible wrong she was going to right. Perhaps being here, officially branded a criminal, had made her realize that belonging to him was terribly wrong. Perhaps she was off to patch things up with Weasley.

_I will never forgive myself for not telling you goodbye_… How the fuck was he supposed to take that?

It was too much. He had no more strength and no more spirit to resist anymore. Sitting on the icy stone of his cell, he let himself slip into the blackness of despair he had been fighting since the first day.

* * *

When he found Malfoy unresponsive the next day, Harry knew that enough was enough. He had stayed his two hours, nudging his Patronus as close to Malfoy's limp form on the ground as he could. When the visit was up, he apparated directly to the Ministry.

"Let him go, or I swear I will turn public opinion against you," he threatened Dawlish. "I am a bad enemy to have, especially when people's trust is still thin."

"He and his family have been a stain on the Wizarding community long enough!"

"He is not Lucius Malfoy, no matter how much you want to believe it."

"He would not have the Dark Mark upon his-"

"If a Dark Mark was the price for my parents' lives, I'd damn well have one too!" Harry shouted at the ignorant man.

The two glared at each other in silence.

"Decide now. My next stop is the Prophet. What I tell them is up to you."

"You would dare threaten the Minister of Magic?!" Dawlish demanded, red-faced with fury.

"You know the last person to ask me if I dared to threaten _him_?"

Harry saw the understanding flicker in his eyes.

"Release him. Today. Or I will find a way to make you resign."

* * *

Malfoy woke up in St. Mungo's two days later. He knew it was St. Mungo's from the striped wallpaper. And the hospital bed. What on earth was he doing here? A healer shuffled in and saw that he was awake.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy. And how are we feeling this morning?" she asked over-cheerfully.

"Like shit."

The healer huffed silently before checking him over dramatically and pronouncing him in perfect health.

"Why, if you like, you can go home this evening once we get the paperwork filled out."

Home. It didn't mean anything anymore. Just then Potter and Weaselette came through the door. Draco inclined his head in their direction.

"Potter, this is becoming repetitive, but would you tell me why the hell I'm here?"

Potter grinned at him.

"The Minister released you."

"Just like that? After 26 fucking days, he just decided?"

Potter looked a little embarrassed and became interested in the floor tile. She-Weasel answered.

"Harry _persuaded_ the Minister," she said, beaming. "It was practically Slytherin."

"Seeing as I'm a free man, I'll take that as a fucking compliment," he said moodily.

He moved to get up, but still felt shaky.

"Careful, now, dearie. Have you got anyone to look after you at home? Could be a few days before your strength's back," the healer trilled.

Draco's face went blank. He groped around for an answer, but his mind was sluggish, and he felt ill. He had no one.

"He's got us," Ginny Weasley said. "He'll be staying with us."

He knew he should protest. He knew he shouldn't accept help – especially from Potter's fucking girlfriend. But Gods, he was just so relieved that he didn't have to be in the Manor alone… he didn't have it in him to argue. All he could think was that he had to try to stop calling her _She-Weasel_.


	15. Stay

**Chapter 15**

**Stay**

Life as an 'adult' in the real world would have been a strange new reality on its own. Now it was bundled together with the strange new reality they all faced.

For weeks, Hermione hadn't known how to begin. Seven years of working toward a goal, and she didn't know what happened next. She found an apartment… looked at the possibility of jobs and internships… volunteered at St. Mungo's… but going through the motions wasn't the same as living.

Harry was the new head of the Aurors, and was recruiting. He had tried to recruit her more times than she could count, but she'd had enough of that life forever.

Ron… they didn't talk about Ron.

All the other survivors she had grown close with – they had faded into daily routines as well as Harry had. Gods, was she the only one dealing badly with this transition?

Draco… she couldn't think about Draco either.

It had been almost three months since his release from Azkaban. She had been in Australia when he was finally given his freedom. Her parents, as expected, were furious, hurt, betrayed – all she had feared had come true. And by the time she had helped them both to return to their separate homes, Draco had been absorbed into daily life too. She read in the Prophet about his taking control of the family company. Everyone had been shocked to see him cut ties with all but legitimate business partners. It constituted a huge loss of wealth for the company, especially as the legitimate lines of business had been so long neglected, but there was his picture, sleeves literally rolled up, working alongside his employees to restore the company name. She still hadn't seen him. She had been gone when he was released. He had been busy with his company when she returned. She had tried to write so many times, but what could she say? _I'm so sorry my ex-boyfriend kept you in Azkaban. Do you want to go for drinks sometime?_ And so she had waited for him to write.

She was still waiting.

She tried filling her life with other things, but she found it hard to go to Harry and Ginny's for dinner. She was supposed to be happy for their blissful life together, but she found herself bitter for her own life being so adrift. She met up with former classmates for lunches and dinners, but grew weary of their untiring requests. It was just too painful to tell and re-tell the story of their confinement and escape, knowing how things had ended up. She'd had enough of empty rooms and empty friends.

She knew that she would be accepted anywhere she applied for a job, no matter her qualifications. But what did she want to do? A whole childhood spent wondering what she wanted to be when she grew up, and now, suddenly, adulthood had been thrust upon her. She thought maybe she'd like to help people somehow. She had enjoyed the time she spent volunteering at St. Mungo's. She wished she had someone to talk it all over with, but her parents had been too hurt to speak with her, Harry would try the Auror bit for the hundredth time, and Ginny was always so busy these days, setting up a house and planning her wedding…

In lieu of a job, she tried taking on hobbies. She couldn't paint. She had no passion for photography. Dancing required a partner. Crocheting summoned memories of Hogwarts that were better pushed away. On a whim, she had bought herself a muggle violin, but didn't play. She would spread the sheets of music about the floor and try to set her life to it, but she couldn't make it sound the way it should. She couldn't make her life the way it should be.

She could feel herself slipping a little every day, and she knew she had to take control somehow. She had to take control. Somehow.

* * *

There is always a window of opportunity, however small, for everything to fall into place. Draco had missed that window. If Hermione hadn't been in Australia… if he had sent any one of the letters he had written… But what could he write to her? _Did you mean to tell me goodbye? Would you have visited if you could?_ Everything he wrote down sounded clinging and pathetic. Hermione hadn't tried to contact him either, and it had been over four months since his release. Once the window passed, everything worked against him.

She seemed to have everything she wanted out of life now. She had lunches and dinners with different friends every day. She had taken up art and music. She had been accepted into Healer Training at St. Mungo's. Every week, he had drinks with Potter. And every week, once Potter had had that third glass, he would ask about her. He knew better than to ask over tea or dinner – he would get the stern look that meant _I don't want to talk about this_.

He knew he should let it go. She had moved forward. She had her 'friends for dinner and family at every holiday' and with Weasley as the black sheep of his family, she might even still get the damned sweater every Christmas. Somehow, though, he couldn't move forward the way she had.

He had taken the reins of his father's company and cleaned things up. He went to work every day and came home to an expensive flat. He attended the appropriate number of fundraisers and business lunches. But going through the motions wasn't the same as living.

He could feel her slipping away week after week, and he felt powerless to interrupt her life.

Tonight, he felt different. Tonight, he had to take action somehow.

* * *

He had been standing outside of her door for seven minutes now. He knew what he would say. He had rehearsed it over and over again in his mind.

_You wanted to say goodbye at the Manor. I'm here now to give you your chance. _

Simple. To the point. He could only hope she didn't take him at his word.

Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked on her door.

When it opened a moment later, his rehearsal was forgotten. She was stunning. She was wearing a dress that ended a few inches above her knees (had he ever _looked _at her legs?) and her hair was swept back, showing the graceful lines of her neck. Gods, help him.

He tried to take a deep breath… he tried to remember what he had come here to say. But all he could do was close the distance between them. His hands came to rest on either side of her delicate neck, and his eyes burned for her. Drawing his face close to her, he stopped his mouth a moment away from hers.

"Tell me to stop, Hermione," he said hoarsely. "Tell me to leave."

He had closed his eyes, waiting for her to respond.

"Stay," she whispered.

* * *

There couldn't be any better feeling than this. Every tension had been released – every dark thought banished by their love-making – and they were still wrapped around each other as though letting go would mean losing themselves again.

Draco had taken her virginity, but she had taken something in return. He had never touched or been touched like this before. He had never looked at a woman then way he had looked at Hermione as he took her. He had never been kissed so longingly. And now, here they were, breathing against each other, her warmth against his bare skin. It was all he wanted to feel ever again.

He was still dumbfounded at the turn the day had taken. When he'd woken up this morning, he'd had no more thought of reclaiming Hermione than of overthrowing the Ministry. Now here he was with her exquisite body nestled against his. He was doing his best to take it all in – to enjoy the moments surrounding him – but he couldn't help thinking of the future… and the past… and at last, he knew he had to ask.

"What if I hadn't come tonight?" he breathed softly against her skin.

He felt Hermione stiffen slightly in his embrace.

"How long would you have waited to come to me?" he asked, hating every word out of his mouth, but hating more that she would let him think she felt nothing for him. He had waited so long for her – how long would she have let him wait? Forever?

"How could I come to you?" she asked sadly. "How could you want anything to do with me after everything that has happened?"

"You think I blame you? For Suetonius? For Weasley?" he asked in disbelief.

"How could I approach you? What could I tell you or write to you that would take away a month in Azkaban?" he could hear her voice quaver.

What could he say to that? Nothing could take away that month. Nothing. But she wasn't the cause of his imprisonment. She wasn't the reason he had been trapped for so long. He felt like he had almost lost his humanity in that month. Sometimes, he still wondered how it affected him. He didn't remember every day of the 26 he was detained. He _did_ remember the day he broke. The day Potter brought the letter. He needed to know about that now.

"When I got your letter… in Azkaban… the only line I could see was '_I will never forgive myself for not telling you goodbye at the Manor._' You can't know how many things went through my mind. I came tonight to give you the chance to say goodbye. I was almost convinced you'd take it."

She turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest.

"Draco," she said, and then stopped. It was a full minute before she could continue.

"Draco, I wrote that letter so many times. It was so dangerous for Harry to give it to you. They always searched him so well that the odds were in favor of them finding it. That letter… the one he gave you… it was the only one that wouldn't make them take Harry and I into custody if they found it. It's the only one that didn't tell you anything about the way I felt. I kept the others," she said, shifting out of his embrace and rising from the bed. He watched her naked form move gracefully to a desk in the corner of the room. She returned a moment later with a small stack of folded parchment.

"I don't know why I still have them. Maybe I thought I'd get the courage to send them to you some day."

She shuffled through the pile and fished out a single sheet.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him. Even in the dim light, he could see that she was blushing. "You deserve to know what I wanted to tell you."

He held the parchment as though weighing its contents as she slipped onto the corner of the mattress. He didn't like the thought of reading it in front of her. He didn't know how it would make him feel or if he wanted her to see his reaction. Finally, when it was clear she was waiting for him, he sat up… and he read.

_Dear Draco,_

_What can I say to you that would take away what you're going through? _

_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry._

_I will hate Ron forever for what he has done. I will hate the Ministry for what they have put you through. Most of all, I will hate myself for never telling you what I should have. I think you must know by now that I love you. I wish I had told you the first moment I knew. I wish I had told you before we left the Manor – did I even tell you goodbye? I'm telling you now, knowing that you can't love me… knowing that you must hate me for all I have caused you. It doesn't matter now. _

_Draco, I'm leaving for Australia in the morning. I can't wait any longer to lift the enchantments my parents are under. I told you once that I had betrayed them. I hid them for their protection. I hid them together - even though they live separately. I made them believe they were in love again. I must restore their memories. It will take time for me to make things right for both of them. I pray that when I return you will be free of that place. _

_Until then, I am yours,_

_Hermione_

He was right to want to read this in private. He didn't know how he would have reacted had he been alone, let alone in front of the girl who had just said she loved him. This forced him to ask the question he had avoided for over four months. _Do I love_ _her_? Right now, he couldn't even remember what love was supposed to mean. It was too tied up with duty and family honor and secrets of every kind. In his life, love was a binding, dangerous promise… and it had cost him so much already.

She was watching him carefully, waiting. And what could he tell her?

"You're waiting for me to say something I can't."

He watched disappointment and confusion and hurt flicker across her face.

"The way I feel about you has nothing to do with that word. _Love_," he spat. "All it's ever meant is leverage, obligation, manipulation… fear. I know it means more to you, but I can't…"

"The way you feel about me?"

He looked at her, his eyes begging to let him keep silent. He'd made a study of never telling anyone how he felt, let alone her. He was sure there was some rule of his Father's that forbade it. She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He hated how vulnerable he felt right now. He knew there was so much he could say to her, but… damn it all… this was terrifying.

"Tell me why you came here tonight," she said quietly.

"To see if you still belonged to me."

"Why do you want me to belong to you?"

"I'm no good at rubbish like this, Hermione…"

"Please. Tell me why you want me to belong to you."

He was silent a full twenty seconds. When he opened his mouth to speak, he prayed the words would be there.

"I want you to belong to me because… when people look at me, they see what they've heard… or what they think I am, and you see me."

He looked up, and saw her hardly daring to breathe, hoping to hear more.

"You made me feel like I was a better man than I had any right to believe. I wanted to be that for you – I wanted to change. It's so fucking hard trying to live up to it, though. It feels pointless when it's for anyone but you. It killed me every time I saw you in the paper, every time Potter said your name… thinking that you'd moved on with your life when I wanted you there. I wanted you in my arms. I wanted you in my bed. I wanted you next to me at all the bloody fundraisers, and on every damn walk I took alone. I wanted to shout at every fucking man in London that you were mine, just to be sure they knew. I wanted to shout it at _you."_

He took a deep breath, realizing his heart was pounding with the raw pain of the past four months.

"I'm yours," she said, her hand coming to rest on the side of his face, caressing him softly. "I've waited for you. I've wanted you."

He pulled her close, kissing her deeply as he laid her down. He had told her more than he'd meant to, but gods, he hadn't been able to stop himself. He wasn't able to stop himself now, as her body wrapped around his. Her hands wandered over of his skin as her lips claimed his, and he gave himself up to her once more.


	16. The Bride

**Chapter 16**

**The Bride**

It wasn't like Hermione to accept an invitation and then not show up. Last night had been his and Ginny's rehearsal dinner. It was at a posh muggle restaurant in London – they had hoped to avoid persistent reporters that way. All of their friends had been there as well as several of Ginny's family members (excluding Ron, of course). But Hermione had been noticeably absent.

He was worried about her. Her outlook on life since they had escaped Hogwarts had been ambivalent at best… fragile at worst. Too much had happened to her at once. Ron, her parents, the Ministry…. Malfoy. He had been so happy to hear about her acceptance into Healer Training a month ago. It was just the push forward that she needed. He had hoped she was on the road to her old, fiercely-educated self again. But missing something as big and as personal as his rehearsal dinner could only mean something was wrong. She would only miss something that important if she were deathly ill, or… worse.

He walked into St. Mungo's and stood patiently in line at the information desk as several oddly-afflicted patients were directed into different wards. When his turn came, he asked politely where he could find Hermione Granger, Healer-in-training. The woman behind the desk was suddenly a-flutter, scattering a cup full of quills and giggling nervously.

"I'll just check for you, Mr. Potter," she said in a sickly-sweet tone.

Gods, he should have brought Ginny. She had the most incredible gift with glares that would have brought the flighty witch back down to Earth in an instant.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter, but it seems Ms. Granger has owled in sick for the day."

Harry turned on his heel and headed for the exit, feeling much more alarmed than when he had entered.

"Thanks," he mumbled over his shoulder.

This was not good. Hermione Granger would never owl in sick on a training day. He had to get to her apartment – he just hoped she was alright.

* * *

The smell of bacon and coffee permeated Hermione's apartment. She and Draco had showered (rather unproductively), and at the moment, were ravenously hungry for breakfast instead of each other. She marveled at the fact that there had been no awkwardness between them this morning. She had worried that after such a whirlwind reunion, they would look shyly at one another, not knowing what to say or how to act. Instead, here she was in a t-shirt and boy shorts, buttering toast while Draco poured himself coffee in nothing but boxers. It was as though they had been in this routine for years – everything felt natural – everything felt right. They settled themselves at her small dining table with plates of toast and bacon and tucked in enthusiastically.

"Are you still living at the Manor?"

"Gods, no. I've begun the process of tearing it down. It's taken months for the crew I hired to remove all the protective spells on it."

"I can't believe you're tearing it down."

"You object?"

"Of course not – it was just such a symbol of being a Malfoy-"

"Precisely. I've tried tearing down the damned name too and rebuilding it in case you hadn't noticed…"

She looked at him with a wry smile.

"Who would have thought a day would come when I could insult you by calling you a Malfoy."

He smiled ruefully back at her.

"For what it's worth, you're the national favorite. Everyone's in love with the new Draco Malfoy, friend of Harry Potter, legitimate businessman-"

"Rescuer of stray unicorns and other such rubbish I suppose," he finished sarcastically.

"It isn't rubbish if it means…" She fell silent. "Where do you live then?"

"A flat in East Finchley."

_Only the wealthiest neighborhood in all of London, naturally. _

"Sounds lovely," she said insincerely.

"Where else should I live? It's where rich people are _supposed_ to have flats," he said with mild exasperation.

"Well. At least a little apartment in Chelsea is the last place reporters will look for you. You must have raised some eyebrows not showing up for work this morning."

"I'm the boss," he said simply. "I approve my own holidays."

Hermione munched the last of her toast before picking up their plates and heading for the sink. As soon as she had set the dishes down, she felt Draco's arms encircle her.

"I don't care if the press finds me with you," he said into her hair. "And I know it's not rubbish if it means we can be together."

He had known what she was afraid to say aloud. She turned in his arms to face him, a question in her eyes.

"I want to be with you, Hermione."

He let his mouth find hers, and she was lost to the feelings of relief and intimacy.

"I want every morning to be like this. I want every night to be like last night."

One hand had slid beneath the hem of her t-shirt and was caressing her bare waist. The other hand was skimming leisurely up the length of her thigh. His mouth found hers again for a longer interval this time. She could feel his arousal pressed against her body and pulled him closer.

The sound of the front door opening to her right broke their reverie.

The intruder and the couple stared at each other for a few moments before anyone spoke. Draco was the one to break the silence at last.

"Fucking hell, Potter. You've got to stop walking in on us like this."

* * *

Harry knew he should react differently, but he was so damn relieved that Hermione was alright that all he could do was grin like an idiot.

"Malfoy. Hermione," he said nodding his head to each one of them, his grin getting bigger at the sheer absurdity of their situation.

"For fuck's sake, Potter. Don't you knock? Go out on the balcony or something until we've got clothes on."

He told himself to snap out of it, but he was dangerously close to giggling aloud as he headed for the small fire escape landing that served as Hermione's balcony. He should feel mortified at the scene he had just walked in on. He should feel righteously indignant that Hermione had missed his rehearsal dinner to spend the night with Malfoy. He should feel anything but the giddy relief that was flowing through him. He was glad Malfoy's question had been rhetorical because, if he was honest, he had bypassed a knock on the door and used his spare key – he had been that worried.

After an incredibly awkward cup of tea with the two of them (fully clothed this time), Harry headed back home. His wedding was tomorrow and he was sure Ginny needed him to run some last-minute errands. He was shamelessly relieved that at least part of the parasitic press' focus would be on the unexpected pairing of Slytherin and Gryffindor that would make its debut tomorrow.

* * *

_Ginny Weasley._

She looked in the full length mirror at the bride staring back at her.

"Ginny Weasley."

It was the last time she would ever call herself that. Ginny knew that most brides surrounded themselves with bridesmaids and relatives in the moments before their momentous walk down the aisle. She had planned to do the same. When the time came, though, she found that she didn't want the tittering of flower girls or her mother fussing over her. Instead she waited alone for the music to begin. It shouldn't be long now – 10 minutes or so. She had imagined she was far too sensible – far too grounded – to experience the jittery anxiety of a bride. She was wrong.

A door handle turned behind her and she sighed in irritation. Hadn't she told them to leave her in peace?

"You look beautiful."

She spun on her heel, yelling as she turned.

"Harry James Potter! You know it's bad luck to…."

She stopped short. There he was – the man she loved – impeccably dressed and groomed, leaning casually against the doorframe… wearing a blindfold. She wanted to laugh out loud, but instead she ran across the room to him and threw herself into his arms.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice muffled by his collar.

"Your mother blindfolded me. I wanted to be with you."

Judging from the strength of his embrace, his nerves were in the same state as hers.

"Do we have to do this, Gin?" he asked. "Can't we just be married here, in this room? I can tell you right here that I love you and I want you to be mine forever – the rest is just a bloody show and we don't know half the audience."

She smiled ruefully, letting him draw her closer.

"Tell me here, where it's just for us. Then the show won't matter."

Reaching up he pulled the blindfold from its position over his glasses. For a few moments, all he could do was stare.

"You look beautiful," he said at last.

He held her close, looking into her eyes.

"Ginny Weasley. I love you. I promise I'll always love you. I'll be everything you need me to be."

His gaze was warm and steady – his voice soft and sincere. She could feel tears in her eyes.

"Harry, I love you. I promise to love you forever. I'll do everything I can to make you happy."

The air around them was charged with magic. The force of their simple words had bound them more completely than any ceremony could have. They belonged to each other now no matter what happened at the end of the aisle.

Harry's face was full of emotion as his lips found hers – it was his first kiss for his new wife.


	17. Muggle Affairs

**Chapter 17**

**Muggle Affairs**

Healer training was not known for its large number of graduates. The program was a grueling two years, and had always managed to wash out at least 40% of attendees. When Hermione had begun training a little over a year and a half ago, she was one of 16 hopeful students. That number had dropped to 9 now. She had taken to the study of magical healing with the same zeal and single-mindedness she had always shown for education. She was naturally at the top of her small class, but to get there, she had spent many a late night bent over books and anatomical charts. Draco would try time and again to coax her into bed, but she was satisfied with nothing less than perfection in her work whether it meant staying up until 11:00 p.m…. or, in tonight's case, 2:47 a.m.

Draco looked at the clock and groaned as he rolled out of bed. She saw him coming and tried to head him off.

"Just ten more minutes."

"No."

Maybe she heard the hardness in his voice or maybe she was too exhausted, but she made no effort to resist as he pulled her into his arms and led her to bed.

"At least tell me you understand why I'm doing this," she said as he slid into bed beside her. "It's someone's life, Draco. It _has_ to be perfect."

"At three in the morning it's _our_ life, Hermione. Yours and mine. That deserves to be perfect too."

It was 2:51 a.m. There were four and a half months until she graduated. Draco was counting down minute by minute.

They had become so weighed down in this phase of life that even the wizardazzi had given up on them, officially labeling them a 'boring' couple. Their debut almost two years ago had caused much more of a shock wave than they had expected. Some people were horrified. Some were thrilled. No matter the reaction of the public, the press had followed them everywhere for months. When Hermione joined him at extravagant charity balls, they were surrounded. When they stepped out for tea with friends, they were pressed against the windows. Even when Draco ran mundane personal errands or went to and from lunch on work days, he had his own entourage of reporters. As healer training became more intense they became increasingly less public and less social. Instead of charity balls, they went for evening walks. Instead of attending lunches and teas, they were to be found in libraries and book stores. Instead of nights spent with friends, they spent evenings confined to Hermione's small living room in Chelsea, her bent over diagrams and spell books and him reading from her library of muggle classics and novels. He had kept the lease on his flat in East Finchley, but he rarely spent nights there anymore. Everything about it was calculated and sterile. Everything here felt like home.

He didn't mind her dedication. He _really_ tried not to mind. But it was odd to be in the same room as her and still miss her company. It was strange to feel jealous of textbooks and diagrams for spending more time with his girlfriend that he did. It felt stranger to ask for her undivided attention during a conversation… or dinner together… or sex.

He wanted her all to himself. He hadn't allowed himself to propose yet for exactly that reason. He was determined that Hermione should belong to him completely before becoming his wife. His _wife._ The word always gave him a thrill of terror and pride and possession. His mother's ring had been in a special drawer of his desk at work for more than six months now. He looked at it almost every day and imagined coming home not just to a girlfriend, but to a wife – to Hermione. He had begun looking at houses in Chelsea and Kensington three weeks ago without her knowing. He wanted a place that felt as much like home as the cramped apartment, but so far his search had turned up nothing. He'd have to keep looking when he got back from his trip.

Gods, speaking of that, he needed to pack – he was leaving in two days. He was headed to America for two and a half weeks to sell himself to a group of investors there. If even one of the investors signed on, his business would grow at least 25% over the next 10 years.

3:17 a.m.

_Gods, go to sleep. You're worse than her._

* * *

Minister Dawlish was very soon to be a _former_ Minister of Magic, for which he was extremely grateful. The election of a new Minister had taken place a little over a month ago and the 'changing of the post' was to take place at 10 o'clock Monday morning. It was Thursday, and it seemed like such a small thing to get to Monday morning.

He had already made his outgoing visit to the muggle Prime Minister to inform him of the upcoming change. The muggle Prime Minister had been more agitated than usual during their short visit. Things in muggle London, it seemed, were not going well. Public trust in the government was low - discontent was high. There were murmurs of riots everywhere, and there had even been bomb threats reported throughout the large city. If he was honest, Minister Dawlish took a sort of guilty pleasure in seeing the leader struggle while having only peace and prosperity to report – it wasn't a position he had gotten to enjoy very often. He wished the Prime Minister a cheery 'good luck' and headed back into the world of magic, so insulated from the disruption of muggle affairs.

On Friday, muggle affairs came tumbling down upon them all. On Friday, there were more than bomb threats – there were bombs.

* * *

Draco woke up Friday morning and stretched sleepily. It was only a five hour time difference, but the early morning meetings had gotten to him. He felt strangely at home in New York City – in some ways it felt very much like London.

He turned on his side to look at the clock. 10:00 a.m. How brilliant to be able to sleep in on the final day of his excursion. The only plan for the day was dinner with Jake Wilton, one of his new investors. Three of the eight moguls he had met with had agreed to invest in his company. Tomorrow, he would go home to Hermione. He was having a very, _very_ good week, and he was determined that it would only get better. He'd had a lot of time to think alone here in New York, and he had brought his mother's ring with him. He realized now that he should have proposed the moment he knew he wanted to marry her. He would ask her when he got home – he didn't want to wait four more months.

Stretching more purposefully, he got out of bed and began getting ready for the day. He needed coffee. Taking one last look at the ring, he smiled and pocketed it before heading downstairs to the hotel restaurant.

When he reached the hotel lobby, he was struck by the somber mood everyone was in. Something wasn't right, he could feel it.

"Mr. Malfoy!" the front desk attendant cried as he passed. "Mr. Malfoy you're from London aren't you?"

"Yes. What's happened?"

"Three bombs went off this morning in the underground! Have you spoken to your family yet today?"

"Three bombs! Where?"

"They said it was on the Piccadilly line. Here – it's all over the news – come around the counter and see."

Draco's heart pounded as he followed her back to an employee lounge with a television. A bomb at the right place along the Piccadilly Line could hurt the magical community badly. The Ministry's underground building ran parallel to the Piccadilly Circus station. The line ran more or less beneath St. Mungo's, which was roughly a block from Green Park… if Hermione was training today…

Fucking hell. He needed to get home _now_.

They reached the ancient television and Draco watched in horror at the scenes of destruction. Piccadilly Circus. Leicester Square. _Green Park_.

The front desk attendant patted him awkwardly on the back.

"You're more than welcome to use the phone here free of charge, Mr. Malfoy. I certainly hope no one you know was hurt."

Draco couldn't speak. He stood rooted to the spot, reading the damned ticker at the bottom of the screen.

_46 reported dead… hundreds wounded... dozens missing… building collapses near blast sites…_

Gods. He had to get home.

"What time did it happen?" he asked the attendant stonily.

"Right around 9:00 a.m., London time."

Six and a half hours ago. Hermione might be dead… wounded… missing… and he had picked today to fucking sleep in. Fuck! He needed to know if she was alright. How could he…?

"Ravvi!" he said loudly in the empty room.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy?" the woman asked, looking confused and mildly alarmed.

But Ravvi didn't come. Without giving the bewildered hotel worker an explanation, Draco turned on his heel and headed for the nearest apparation point.

* * *

Harry knew instinctively that he wasn't hurt – not badly. But he was sure as hell trapped. He had no idea what had happened – only that there had been an explosion of some sort. Now it was pitch black where he was, and he was pinned between what he assumed was his desk and what he hoped was a wall. He had immediately groped blindly for his wand, but naturally, it was in none of the pockets he usually kept it in. He could only assume it was a part of the rubble surrounding him now. There was nothing to do now but wait for help to come. If the entire Ministry was in this state, he thought he might be waiting for quite some time.

* * *

"Listen, I can give you anything you want. I can pay you anything you want. I need to get back to London. Now."

"Can't be done. Everyone else here is as anxious to get back home as you, Mr. Malfoy, and no amount of money will get any of you there."

He had tried to intimidate, charm and bribe, but no one was willing to open an apparition point for him. There weren't just a few blind eyes to be turned, they told him – they would be putting international relations at risk letting someone apparate before the go ahead from the Ministry of Magic.

"The Ministry building fucking collapsed," he shouted at them in anger. "There's no one left to give the fucking go ahead!"

Shouting didn't work either. He had tried everything in his power to get home. He had tried every means available to him to reach Hermione. The magical community had been forbidden from apparating into London – they'd also been forbidden to apparate _within_ London. With so much destruction, and so many changes in familiar structures, dozens of witches and wizards had apparated directly into crumbling walls. Dozens more had been met with a gaping pit where a once-sturdy floor had been. The decree was issued by a group of Aurors because neither the Minister nor the Minister-elect could be found, and the Americans hadn't heard from their British counterparts since. Maybe if Ravvi still belonged to him, she never would have obeyed such an order… but Hermione had refused to _enslave_ the 'poor elf.' She resided at Hogwarts now and was bound by the Headmaster's commands.

He hadn't given up hope of reaching Hermione, or at least of getting word to her somehow. He had gone to the nearest owl post. The man behind the desk was grumpy and irritated, and Draco knew the answer to his question before he asked it. None of these birds could make a Trans-Atlantic flight. He was sure the man behind the counter had been repeating this information for most of the day.

Desperately, he considered taking the hotel attendant's offer of using the telephone. Quite aside from not knowing how to use one, he realized that he had no one he could call. Hermione didn't have a muggle telephone. No one in the magical community did.

Other witches and wizards watched him with increasing dismay. If a rich man like Draco Malfoy couldn't find a way home, what chance did they have? All they could do was wait… and hope their loved ones were alive.


	18. Ron

**Chapter 18**

**Ron**

Ronald Weasley could be found most days walking the streets of muggle London. There wasn't much else he could do anymore. Generally, when he was recognized in the wizarding community, he was given looks of pity or scorn. Damn Malfoy for being so bloody likeable. In the beginning, no one had doubted him when he'd said that Malfoy was an evil git. It had taken a couple of months for the general population to realize that he and Hermione were never photographed together… that, in fact, _none_ of the Hogwarts survivors would associate with him. He didn't know what he had expected, but he'd thought one or two of them might have backed him up.

Then the ferret-faced wanker had started his little game of _Upstanding Citizen_, and they had all bloody swooned over the reformed Death Eater. That's when things had gone from bad to worse for him. It wasn't enough losing his girlfriend or his best friend. He'd begun losing family. He'd begun losing everyone he had left.

Never mind that he had been on the right side of the war his whole bloody life. Never mind that he'd helped kill Voldemort, destroyed Horcruxes, and fought alongside the best of them. Never mind that he'd been friends with these people for seven bloody years and Malfoy had been there for seven bloody minutes.

One lie was all it took.

One lie and how could they blame him for telling it? Didn't they understand that at the end of the story, the hero gets the girl and the glory? Not the bloody villain! Two years later he still wasn't sorry he'd told it. He hated what it had cost him, but he couldn't make himself feel sorry for bloody trying.

The worst of it was how badly he still wanted it: everything he had lost… everything he had expected after all they'd been through together. He and Hermione should have a home and a baby on the way like Harry and Ginny had.

The day before Harry had killed Voldemort was the last day anything had made sense. It was the last time he had known without a doubt what sort of future he was fighting for. In that future, everyone was alive… especially Fred. In that future, he and Harry and Hermione were all part of the same family, the way they always should have been. In that future, every day was filled with family and friends, and every night was filled with her. How many times had that future pulled him through the things they had encountered? How many times had he looked at Hermione and known that anything they faced was worth it? Was worth her? Had he ruined it all – that entire future – just by running when he should have stayed? By bluffing when he should have backed down? There was a list of questions like that in his head, demanding to be answered, but he hadn't seen her since the wedding, and she was the only one who could answer them.

And so he walked.

He walked through the sprawling gardens laid out by muggle queens. He walked through neighborhoods with children and families spilling from every door. He walked past palaces and landmarks that muggles lined up to photograph.

Once in a long while, he walked past her flat.

Once in an even longer while, he'd visit Professor Lockhart at St. Mungo's.

He didn't know why he was still drawn to see her. Perhaps he thought that if they happened upon each other, it would force a conversation between them. Perhaps then, he could ask the questions that kept him walking… searching for the answers each day.

He still saw his family from time to time, but things had become so strained and awkward that he'd been the one to pull away. The last time they'd all been together was Ginny's wedding. Everyone had been happy that day. Everyone had gone out of their way to act like a family. He had felt hopeful in a way he hadn't felt in months.

Then they had shown up. He had never felt a mixture of hatred and envy and longing. She was stunning. She had always been able to look at once delicate and strong. He could feel the warmth of her smile, and realized that she had never looked as happy as she did standing there with Draco Malfoy's arm around her waist.

It made him feel sick. It made feel like he'd been punched.

It should have been him there, guiding her through the crowded hall. He should have been the only one who could make her smile that way. He should have been the only one allowed to lean so close to her – to sit with his arm around her – to make her laugh.

At some point, the shock and anger had dulled enough to realize that people were staring at him as much as them. He had put every ounce of self-control into keeping his eyes on the front of the hall, where his sister was pledging herself to someone who had been his best friend since the first day of Hogwarts. He hadn't stayed for the celebration that followed. He couldn't.

It had been easy admitting to himself that he still loved her. It had been impossible to admit that she might never love him again.

He hadn't dealt well with the past two years. The Ministry had rewarded his 'information' about Draco Malfoy, and he had managed the past two years supported by the small fortune, but these days, his vault was running low. Every part of his life felt a bit low.

This morning was like every other morning. He went round to a muggle café in his neighborhood for tea. He had come here for the first time almost two years ago. He had felt uncomfortable using muggle money, and had worried about looking out of place, but he needn't have worried. The money wasn't too hard to learn, and this café had one of those muggle appliances his father would go crazy for – something called a 'telly.' It seemed to be a combination of a wireless radio and a wizarding publication… sound and picture merged into a single medium. At the risk of sounding like his father, he thought it was really quite brilliant of them, and always enjoyed watching it with his morning tea.

This morning, the muggles on _Daybreak_ talked about a new diet that was sweeping the nation, a British dog who had become an internet sensation (he had once asked what an internet was, but look he'd gotten had kept him from ever asking again), and how to make Prince Harry's favorite three-bean salad. Once the muggles started in on the cooking stuff, he usually counted out his change for the waitress and left. He happened to like three-bean salad, though, and thought he'd stick around to see what the muggle prince was so jumped up about. The had just come to the secret ingredient that made that bloody salad so royal when the picture cut out, and was replaced by a Sky News Special Report.


	19. Schemer

**Chapter 19**

**Schemer**

Nick Dawley wasn't cut out for this type of work. He wasn't an auror or a healer like these other people. He worked in an apothecary shop in Diagon Alley, and had been delivering supplies to St. Mungo's when the bomb went off a block away. Windows had broken, walls had cracked – even a few parts of the ceiling and floor gave way here and there. For the most part, though, St. Mungo's, its patients, and its workers had been spared. It was the Ministry of Magic that was in trouble. It was lucky, everyone kept saying, that a group of aurors were visiting one of their own who had been wounded in the recent capture of a fugitive wizard. All Nick could think was that if they had been in the Ministry where they were supposed to be, he wouldn't be a member of their stupid search and rescue team. They had ordered all the able-bodied men in St. Mungo's (which was very few, considering that it was a hospital) to accompany them to the site of the Ministry collapse to help locate trapped and wounded workers.

They had divided up into groups and had been working for almost 12 hours straight. Every one of them was deliriously tired. Unfortunately, he was the only one in favor of resting. Everyone else moved mechanically through the debris with no intention of stopping. Somehow, he had found a way to avoid checking for a pulse yet – the Healers took care of that, for the most part. Then the Aurors searched each body for identification to provide the names of the fallen.

This was the worst thing anyone had ever made him do. At least he had no complaints about his choice of company. The healers who had left with the first group were old or middle-aged, and most were frumpy and overweight. All of the trainee healers were young, and a few were rather nice to look at. One was especially pretty. She had brown, wavy curls and a very sweet mouth. He stayed close to her while they worked – of the two of them, she would always check the pulses, which suited him fine. He had struck up conversations with her between stretches of rubble, and she had seemed grateful for the distraction. Emboldened, he began throwing in a few more smiles and a bit more charm with each exchange. Very soon, he was openly flirting with her. Either this girl didn't have much experience with men flirting, or she was too wrapped up in the wreckage they were walking through. Whichever the case, she seemed oblivious to his come-ons. After several more conversations and questions about her, he was struck by a realization. This was Hermione Granger – war hero, best friend to Harry Potter, and girlfriend of the infamous Draco Malfoy. He was dying to ask about her life with the Death Eater, but bringing him up might block any further advances he made. She could be Draco Malfoy's girlfriend when they got back to the surface. Here, nine stories underground, a girl needed comfort, and if her boyfriend wasn't around to provide it, well…

* * *

Hermione was heartsick and heartbroken to see so many people wounded and so many more dead. She had numbed her emotions as she knelt by body after body, feeling in vain for a pulse she knew wasn't there. These poor men and women… some young, some old… they had survived a war. Now they had been killed by someone else's battle. She didn't know what reason muggles would have to bomb three underground stations in the heart of London. She wasn't sure their reasons mattered to her. What mattered were the number of names on the list the Aurors were carrying. It was up to 29.

Ahead, she could see another figure sprawled across the rubble. She knew before she reached him that he was dead. She reached automatically for the vein on his neck and stopped cold. It was Terry. Terry Boot.

"No!" she whispered in disbelief.

She had survived worse than war with Terry. They'd been trapped together in Hogwats for nearly a month, and couldn't help remaining friends after their escape, just as all of the Hogwarts survivors had. It wasn't fair. How could a single person be put through so much only to die this way! She couldn't help it, her emotions from the whole day came crashing down on her and she let out a long shuddering sob. Nick came to her and held her close as she wept uncontrollably.

* * *

After a full 12 hours of agonizing delay, the muggle Prime Minister reopened England to travelers, saying he wanted Londoners to be able to come home to their loved ones. When no word came from London's magical community, the Americans reopened apparation lines too.

Draco apparated outside of the apartment building and ran up the flight of stairs to Hermione's front door. Every fiber of his being wanted her to be here, safe and completely uninvolved, but he knew deep down that if she was alive, she wouldn't have stayed here doing nothing. He did a cursory search of the apartment, trying not to let emotion overwhelm him as he caught the scent of her perfume.

His next stop was St. Mungo's. He almost cried in relief when he saw that the building, while battered, was standing. If she had been here during the explosion, she was probably safe. The relief lasted until he entered and found it overrun with wounded and dying witches and wizards. Slowly, hysteria crept back into him. Should he be checking, bed by bed, to see if Hermione was one of them? He kept asking anyone who looked remotely official if they knew of Hermione, if they knew where the healers in training were, if they knew _anything_ at all. As it turned out, most of the staff here had been sent in from other cities across Britain – many of them weren't even qualified for the tasks they were performing. St. Mungo's was overwhelmed and understaffed. Draco was angry, frustrated and terrified. He had yet to see Hermione bustling around taking care of others, and no one seemed to know where she was – no one had even seemed to know she worked there.

"I don't know about a _Hermione_," said a patient behind him. "But a group of my colleagues left with a group of Healers yesterday to help with the Ministry building."

Draco stared in disbelief at the wounded man and recognized the cloak of an Auror hanging beside his bed.

"A group of Aurors and Healers? They're at the Ministry?"

"That's where they were headed."

"Thank you," Draco said, flooding with relief at the scrap of information, however vague. "Thank you so much."

"Good luck."

* * *

Nick couldn't believe his luck. Hermione Granger had just melted into his arms, sobbing, without any maneuvering of his own. He knew he'd have no better opportunity than this, so he let his arms slide down from their position around her shoulders to encircle her waist, pulling her as close as he could. Grinning, he bent slightly so that his cheek was nestled against her face – his lips just above her ear. He was perfectly positioned to kiss her, and she might just be too overcome to resist.

His lips had begun to brush across her face toward her mouth when a hand closed painfully around his face and slammed him backwards into the concrete floor. He groped blindly for his wand, but heard a furious 'EXPELLIARMUS!' and felt it race past his fingertips, out of reach. Looking up, he saw Draco Malfoy looming over him, and his blood ran cold. One of the Aurors shifted uncomfortably behind him and said, "You can't just kill him in front of us, Mr. Malfoy…" The burning glare lifted from him momentarily before he heard Malfoy say, "Fair enough." The next moment, Malfoy's hand closed around his throat, and he was pulled into blackness.

* * *

Garrett Keeble had been watching closely all day, waiting for something like this to happen. He'd been an auror longer than some of these nits had been walking and talking. He'd been in bad situations before. Times like these, there were three types – he called them the wailers, the doers, and the schemers. He liked to surround himself with doers. He'd been wary when they'd given him the healers-in-training, but was glad to find them efficient and matter-of-fact. If they shed a tear, they did it silently and carried on working. They were good at their jobs, and would make fine healers someday. Might be that this experience, hard as it was, would make them better.

But bugger it all if they hadn't sent him a schemer too. He'd been glaring at Nick Dawley from the moment he'd paired himself with Hermione Granger. He could see that calculating look, the cheap smile, and, a few times, he'd heard the fumbling attempts at flirtation. _Fool_, he thought contemptuously. Draco Malfoy might have turned a corner, it was true. He might have everyone believing he'd been tamed by the Granger girl, but Keeble had been an Auror during the Dark days… both times. He _knew_ parts of what Malfoy had seen – the sorts of things that never went away. He knew because he'd seen things too… things he could never un-see – things that made him a dangerous man when his temper flared. He watched as Dawley wormed his way closer to the Granger girl throughout the day, knowing he'd have to step in soon. _Bloody, buggering fool,_ he thought again angrily.

Then it happened. Granger had a breakdown over one of the bodies, and the arrogant arse wasn't pretending anymore. He had a great bloody smile on his face and began going in for a kiss, bold as you please. Keeble pulled out his wand, but someone else got there first. It took him a moment to grasp the situation, and once he had, he couldn't bring himself to step in. He was enjoying a grim sort of satisfaction watching Dawley squirm.

Finally Gibbons spoke up.

"You can't just kill him in front of us, Mr. Malfoy."

The cold fury of Malfoy's gaze fell on Gibbons for half a moment before they heard him say, "Fair enough," and watched him apparate away with his hand clenched around Dawley's throat.

"Well that's done it, Gib," he said with annoyance. "Could you not think of something useful to say?"

"I didn't hear you chiming in none," Gibbons grumbled back moodily.

"That I didn't," he sighed. "Don't know what he thought would happen, the bloody git. I was about to step in myself."

"But what do we do now? Where d'you think they've gone?"

"Search me," he said wearily. "He'll be back for Ms. Granger, I don't doubt."

After a moment's pause, he continued on in an undertone.

"It'll be a shame if we've got to arrest him for murder."

Gibbons looked at him in shock.

"You don't think…" he said in an incredulous whisper, "Not over something like…"

"Use your head, man," Keeble said. "Our Ms. Granger's been with us since the blast… how long ago? Twelve? Thirteen hours now? And this is the first we've seen of Malfoy."

Gibbons stared at him blankly. Giving an exasperated sigh, Keeble continued.

"You've got a wife at home, haven't you? Think of searching for her 13 hours - thinking she's dead cause you can't find her. Then you're desperate enough to search the rubble and you see so many dead as we've seen. After all that fuss and worry, you find her, only that idiot Dawley's got his hands on her. It'll be lucky if he made it through the apparation without a broken neck."

Gibbons looked staggered. So, he realized, kicking himself for not speaking more quietly, did Hermione Granger.

"He wouldn't," she said, barely above a whisper.

"I do hope you're right, miss," he said softly. "Malfoy's one of the few I believe when he says he's left it behind."

* * *

They had apparated to the middle of _nowhere_, surrounded by a lifeless, marshy wasteland. Malfoy's hand was still clamped around his throat, and he desperately needed air. He could see black spots swimming in front of him, and fought for consciousness. Leaning close, Malfoy spoke to him in a voice that was eerily quiet.

"If you ever touch her again – if you ever go _near_ her – _I will kill you_."

Then suddenly, he was gulping in great lungfuls of air as Malfoy disapparated with an echoing _CRACK_.

* * *

Malfoy reappeared by Granger's side, sure enough. Keeble and Gibbons leveled their wands at him, advancing, but they could have been on a different continent for all he seemed to care.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"What've you done with him, Malfoy?" Gibbons asked loudly.

"I didn't bloody kill him," he said wearily. "I should have."

Keeble heard Granger breathe deeply in relief, but didn't lower his wand.

"Where is he then?" he asked, undeterred.

"I'll show you if you'll leave him there to piss himself through the night."

"Might be that I will," he said. "What say you show me and we'll find out."

Malfoy took him by the elbow and said, "Matley Bog," under his breath before apparating.

It was only a split second… long enough for Matley Bog and the pathetic, cowering form of Nick Dawley to swim into view. Then he was pulled again, and they were back underground in the ruins of the Ministry.

"Right then," he said brusquely. "We've one more level before we can go home and rest up, and I can't spare Ms. Granger. So it looks like you'll be joining us, Mr. Malfoy. We'll see to Mr. Dawley in the morning."

He gave the pair a stern look before pushing forward through the rubble once more with the others behind him.

* * *

It had only taken a moment for Hermione to grasp the situation. In her grief, she hadn't realized how close Nick had drawn her, or how out of place his smile was. She hadn't even seen Draco until he'd slammed Nick into the ground and stepped between them. She had been powerless to stop them apparating away, and might not have acted even if she could. She began breathing steadily again when Draco and the auror had returned together. She watched him take in their surroundings, his eyes falling on the lifeless form of Terry Boot, as understanding dawned on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, softly.

He looked pale and worn. She could only imagine what the past 13 hours had cost him in uncertainty and despair. Rushing forward, she lost herself in the strength of his arms… the taste of his kiss… the warmth of his skin. After the horrors she had seen today, this was the solid ground she needed. He broke the kiss, but held her close.

"I love you," he said, hoarsely.

The simple phrase took her breath away. He had never said it – not once. She had watched other couples say it over and over again until it seemed to lose its meaning – until it had become as routine as 'Hello' or 'Goodbye' – never realizing what she would give to hear it just once.

Now, looking at him, she was glad they hadn't worn it down to such a meager phrase.

Now, it meant _everything_.


	20. The Ministry

**Chapter 20**

**The Ministry**

Ron had never realized how clear his priorities were until that moment in the muggle café. Most of his family was in London – everyone he'd ever cared about, in fact – and the bombs had been detonated all around them. He ran through a mental checklist in his head.

_Mum, Dad, Harry, Ginny, George, Bill, Charlie, Percy… Hermione._

Gods there were so many people he could lose. He was pulled in every direction at once. Mum would be home, not in London. Charlie was safe in Romania. Dad, Harry and Percy were at the Ministry – he was sure nothing could penetrate those walls. George was at the joke shop, Bill would be at the bank. Hermione would be at St. Mungo's… and the tube station was rather close to that… but Ginny. Ginny was home alone, he realized, barreling out of the café toward the Potter residence.

* * *

Ginny Potter wasn't one to laze about, but at 7 ½ months pregnant, she figured she was allowed a bit of a lie in. She had been in a 'nesting' phase for the past two weeks, and had exhausted herself by the end of each day, cleaning behind furniture and beneath wardrobes; organizing and reorganizing the nursery; and shopping for the odds and ends that were on every list of 'must-have's' for new mothers.

Four months ago, she had stubbornly insisted that she hadn't wanted to know whether they were expecting a boy or a girl. Three days ago, while window-shopping in Diagon Alley, she had kicked herself for the hundredth time. She watched other glowing mothers-to-be holding up frilly dresses or cuddling broomstick-bedecked blankets, and hated that she wanted that. Her baby _would not_ be frilly or broomstick-covered or any other such rubbish, but there it was. She wanted to be there with the rest of them, picturing her precious one in soft pinks, and yellows, and blues, and greens. She wanted to browse the tiny hair accessories and the little shoes. She wanted her baby to be here, in her arms.

Instead, she relied on the patience that war had built. She had waited a year to find out if the man she loved could be free of his scar. Come to that, she had waited six years to find out he loved her back.

She could wait a little longer for something as special as this... _someone_ as special as this. Baby pushed a tiny foot against her ribs and she smiled. She needed more time anyhow - she and Harry hadn't even settled on names.

James… ...Lily… ..Sirius… ...Severus… ..Andromeda...

…Nymphadora…... …..Remus… ...…Albus….. ….Narcissa…...

So many debts. So many memories to honor. How could they possibly choose which death should be remembered with new life?

She sighed sadly, caressing the swell of her belly as she burrowed deeper into the covers. She had almost chased a daydream into slumber again when she heard pounding on the front door. Alarmed, she pulled on a housecoat.

"Ginny?" It was Ron. "Ginny, are you there? Are you alright?"

She rushed to open the door.

"Ron, what on Earth-" she began, but before she could continue, he had gathered her up in a shaky hug.

"Have you heard from Harry? Do you know where he is?"

"Harry? At the Ministry, unless they've been called out somewhere. What's wrong?"

"Gods, you haven't heard," he said quietly.

He shut the door and pulled her to a chair.

"Ron, what is it?" she asked, her anxiety mounting by the second.

"Ginny, three bombs went off in London this morning. They were set off by the muggles. They… were set off in the underground."

"The Ministry," Ginny said at once. "But there's no way a muggle device could–"

"I thought so too, but I've just heard someone walking past say that the whole Ministry building's collapsed in on itself."

She sat in horrified silence before he squeezed her hand and stood to go.

"I'm on my way there now to see about Dad and Harry and Percy. I'll let you know the minute I find anyone."

"You won't have to," she said, her mouth setting into a hard line. "I'm coming with you."

* * *

When Ron and Ginny arrived at the Ministry, they were met with scenes of staggering destruction and chaos. Rubble spilled from every inch of the city block the Ministry building had once occupied. Where it had stood, a massive crater lay, still fuming and fiery.

The muggles who had set off the bombs had no way of knowing how well-chosen their target was. They had no way of knowing that the building that might have been rattled by the blast if it was all that met the eye, actually extended 10 stories underground. The witches and wizards who had been in power when the tube stations were first constructed had kept a close eye on things, but had added no protection to the Ministry except soundproofing against the passing trains. The idea that muggles could cause any real damage to a magical landmark was simply laughable.

Now wizards worked alongside muggles (many not bothering to hide their wands) as they battled the flames, and helped pull the wounded and dying to the surface. The muggles, for their part, worked in a daze. If they noticed anything out of place, they kept silent, grateful for help in any form.

"Ginny, you can't be here," Ron said at once. He had to yell about the din of emergency sirens, roaring flames, and panicked shouts. He didn't realize how bad things would be. Turning, he met her steely glare as she pushed past him, looking for a way into the darkness and smoke.

* * *

After over an hour of waiting, trapped in darkness, shouting, "Hello!?" every so often, Harry had heard a reply. Someone had begun to dig toward him.

"Thank the Gods," he thought. He was useless here. If the whole Ministry was in this state, he needed to be out there helping. First, though, he'd check on Ginny. The digging came closer, and he heard the voice of a man shouting.

"Harry!" he heard faintly. "Harry!"

"Yes!" he shouted back. "Yes, I'm here! I'm alright!"

The sounds of digging became frantic. A moment later, pale light streamed in through a small hole. It was still too dark to make out much, but Harry knew something was wrong. He didn't know this man. This man was as old as Ginny's dad. He had a desperate, crazed look about him, and his hands were bloody from digging. Crawling through the opening, he came toward Harry, squinting, and shifted the desk with strength that could only have come from adrenaline.

"Henry?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "Is it you?"

Harry worked his way free from the remaining debris.

"Henry?"

The poor man's face was shining with tears as he held out bloody hands.

"No," Harry whispered softly. "I'm so sorry. My name is Harry."

He watched the man crumple in despair and knelt to comfort him.

"I'll look for him," Harry said, achingly. "What does he look like? Where was he last?"

"My Henry," the man said, his shoulders shaking with sobs, "He's tall as you – brown hair. He's 16, for God's sake! He's too young to-" he broke down again, his face in his hands.

That's when Harry realized the man had no wand, no cloak… had used no magic to free him or to heal himself. This man was a muggle. Eight stories underground. Searching for his son through every bit of rubble his hands could dig through.

Harry's chest was tight as he wrapped an arm around him. He must not even realize how far underground he was. He had simply gone from one cry for help to the next, hoping against hope.

"I have to keep looking," he said, straightening.

Harry wanted nothing more than to help him look, but he had nothing to offer. He wished he could heal the man's hands, that he could apparate them both to the surface… he wished he could tell him that Henry was alright.

"Let's get to the surface," Harry said gently. "We can look for him there."

* * *

The contractions hadn't begun until they found Harry's office. It was empty. Crawling through an opening in the debris, Ginny held her wand aloft, searching by its light. She tried desperately not to think of where he could be. Every hope had hinged on finding him here – safe. She continued to search the small ruin until something glinted in the darkness. She knelt, reaching for it, and began to shake uncontrollably.

"What is it?" Ron asked, leaning close.

"Ron," she said, her voice cracking, "If his wand is here, what could have happened to him?"

"Let's get to the surface," Ron said gently. "We can look for him there."

* * *

_Where've those two gotten to?_ Keeble wondered with mounting irritation. _Didn't I tell the lad I couldn't spare her?_ _By the Gods, if he's left with her…_

He stopped in his tracks, staring ahead of him. He had backtracked to find Malfoy and Ms. Granger, and he'd certainly found them. The way the lad had his arms around her – the whole scene they were making – it made him wish to gods that his Liza was still alive. He had loved that woman with everything he had. There was a time he'd have grabbed her up just the same way, and anyone who told him off be damned. Looking at them now made him feel old. Looking at Malfoy made him feel angry. He hadn't had a thing to do with Liza, but for a moment, he hated him for everything Voldemort had taken from him.

The moment passed.

When he looked again, Malfoy was just a boy in love, recklessly happy.

"Enough of that now," he barked at them, feeling every inch of his 'crotchety old age.' "There's work to be done."


	21. Mine

**Chapter 21**

**Mine**

He should be exhausted, he thought. He should feel distressed by the sight of so much death and destruction. If nothing else, he should feel content to finally be home safe with the woman he loved. Draco Malfoy felt none of these things. He was angry. He was unsettled.

He was jealous as hell.

_Mine._ The word flooded his mind until all other thoughts were blocked. _She's_ _mine_. _That bastard knew who she was – he __**knew**__ she belonged to me_ – _and he still_… clenching his teeth, he saw the scene play out for the hundredth time.

He had fought for composure for two hours as they swept the final level of the Ministry. He couldn't fight any more. Locking his arms around Hermione possessively, he let his lips crash against hers in a bruising kiss. He knew it wasn't her fault. He told himself again and again. But still, he needed this. He needed to prove to her, to himself, to that fucking bastard Dawley… he needed to make Hermione his.

_Nick Dawley_, he thought darkly as he dragged his shirt over his head. _What a stupid fucking name._

* * *

At first, Draco's intensity had overwhelmed her, but as he drew her body close, and the heat of his skin burned against her, she felt his control slipping. She willed every touch of her hands, every taste of her body to seep into him – to calm the war raging in his mind.

_I am yours_, she said with the intensity of her gaze. _I am yours_, sighed the soft tumble of her hair against him. _I am yours_, said her fingertips trailing slowly down the length of his body. _I am yours, _her lips traced upon his neck… his chest... his stomach. _Only yours._

* * *

She had conquered him, somehow. He lay on his back holding onto her desperately as she moved against him. If every one of his movements had screamed _you're mine_, her response had soothed the anger and jealousy from them. He breathed her in, gasping as her lips claimed him. The past 14 hours had been hell, but what did they matter when his hands were tangled in her hair? When his mouth had caressed every curve of her body?

The way she moved against him made him weak. The warmth of her skin, her hair falling softly against him, the taste of each kiss… everything she could make him feel – he was the only one who had ever felt it. The only one who would _ever_ feel it. She belonged to him.

* * *

Hermione had set an alarm for herself, knowing how easy it would be to oversleep. She had set it to give herself a solid six hours to recharge for the day awaiting her.

She got four.

Draco sprung upright, wand in hand. Hermione, who had been in his arms, sat blinking frantically beside him. Someone was pounding on the door.

"Hermione!"

"It's Harry," she said, grabbing her robe.

The man on the other side of the door looked hollow. Haunted.

"Ginny," he said.

"Was she –"

"She's in labor."

"It's too soon!" Hermione said.

The glare she got in return made it clear that he knew exactly how early it was.

"Have you taken her to St. Mungo's? There are specialists there who –"

"We waited at St. Mungo's for six hours," he said with a clenched jaw. "No one had time to sit with her for 10 bloody minutes. One of them told her to go home and _relax_."

The tone of his voice made her sure that particular healer was lucky to still be walking.

"I'll get dressed," Hermione said, rushing back to the bedroom.

* * *

In the end, Draco had come too. He had been close friends with the Potters since they'd taken him in, and, truth be told, he wasn't willing to be without Hermione just yet. He'd only just gotten her back.

He watched as Hermione worked. It had taken her three hours to get Ginny to this point – lessening each contraction, stabilizing the unborn child, losing ground, gaining momentum. It was a cycle: lessening, stabilizing, soothing… hoping.

He had never seen Potter in worse shape. Bloody Saint Potter, he had once called him. Today, he looked like a martyr, suffering more than anyone was meant to. If Potter could take Ginny's place somehow – take the pain onto himself – make this easier for her, Draco knew he wouldn't hesitate.

At last, the contractions stopped, and Hermione transitioned from Healer to friend, full of reassurance.

"You won't make 40 weeks, Ginny, but every day we can buy will be a victory. You're 31 weeks, 5 days. The baby's doing well, but you'll have to be on strict bed rest until he comes. If we can get you to 34 weeks, his lungs will be ready –"

"He?" Ginny asked.

Hermione's hands flew up to cover her mouth.

"You said he?"

"I'm so sorry Ginny! I'd forgotten that you didn't want to know –"

She broke off her apology at the look on Ginny's face. She was radiant with happiness. She looked at Harry, and his smile mirrored hers.

"A baby boy, Harry," she whispered, her face full of emotion. "James."

It seemed to be too much for him. Harry draped an arm across her, and buried his face against her body.

It felt like too private a moment to witness, and Draco found himself slipping quietly from the room. Hermione joined him, her own eyes shining with tears of joy. Drawing her close, Draco wondered what it would be like to be in Harry's place. To be happily waiting for the son his wife would give him.

_Gods,_ he thought, _my wife_.

His chest felt tight as he stepped back from her far enough to reach into his jacket pocket.

His palms were sweating, and his heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could feel it a foot away from him.

This was all wrong.

They'd slept four hours of the past twenty; they'd seen horrors beyond imagining. He hadn't chanced a look in a mirror, but he was sure he looked like hell. He'd always pictured champagne and music and laughter, but he'd been waiting six months for the right moment and _this _was it.

She was it.

Taking her in his arms again, he kissed her, just once, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Marry me," he said, looking into her eyes.

He waited, knowing how maddeningly logical she was… how deep her need to weigh every pro and con… how much she wanted to finish healer training… how –

"Yes," she whispered, breathless. "Yes."


	22. Wizardazzi

When James was born, the Weasleys had descended upon the Potter house en masse. Harry was glad for the extra help, but a part of him longed to run away with his tiny family and keep them all to himself. He had never known what love could be until he held James in his arms. He had never realized how little he wanted to share him or Ginny with others until he had no choice.

Every so often, he'd take James from one of the doting Weasleys and steal off to a different part of the house. He'd sit with him, and breathe in the scent of his hair, and marvel at the tiny hand curled around his fingers. He'd think of his own father and wonder if he'd done the same.

He had been sitting for some time before he sensed someone standing in the doorway. Smiling, she joined him, sitting gently on his lap, and weaving her hand through his hair.

"I can't help watching you love him," she said softly, lifting her lips to his. "I love how much you love him."

Shifting James into one arm, he encircled her with the other.

"I love you," he said, kissing her brow before letting his head rest against her. Everything that mattered in life was here in his arms. His chest swelled so much from pride and happiness in his tiny family that it was almost painful. Everyone deserved to be this happy.

* * *

Of course, once he'd thought about it, he realized how strange it was that Ron had been missing from the joyful reunion of the Weasleys at James' birth. It pained him to admit that they'd all grown so used to his absence that it no longer stood out them. The moment he realized he was missing was the moment he wanted him there most. He wanted to share this with him. He wanted to thank him for taking care of Ginny when he couldn't. He wanted to talk with him – really talk – to see if any part of their friendship could be restored.

And so Harry went to him. The two of them either needed reconciliation or closure, he decided. His visit would decide which.

When Ron opened the door, Harry had to fight to keep his face blank. He looked awful – like he hadn't taken care of himself in years. He looked thin and pale, and Harry wondered when he'd last eaten.

"Harry," he said in a dull voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I wanted to… bloody hell, mate. What's happened to you?" he said crumbling into shock and sadness. "Are you alright?"

"Alive and well," he said bitterly. "Is Ginny alright? And the baby?"

Yeah, they're… listen, can I come in?"

Ron gave a shrug and walked away from the open door, leaving Harry to follow him, if he would. Harry closed the door and surveyed the ruin surrounding him. Ron's house looked worse than he did. Empty bottles and glasses littered the surfaces, and Harry wondered that Ron was sober enough to walk. Looking again, he saw that the bottles and glasses were covered with a film of dust. He must have run out, and thank Merlin he hadn't found the will to buy more… or to leave the house at all, from the looks of it.

Ron followed his gaze and scowled.

"So what if I've been drinking?" he spat.

Harry didn't feel like tackling anything involving alcohol.

"Why didn't you come round? You got the owl? About James?"

"Didn't want to interrupt the celebrations," he said dully.

"I wanted you there," Harry said quietly. "I wanted to show him to you. He's brilliant."

"Congratulations, Harry," Ron said, looking at him with eyes full of emotion. "Still can't believe you're a dad. And Ginny a mum..."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"Is it still her?" Harry asked gently. "Is that why you weren't there?"

"I hear my parents will have an honorary son-in-law soon," he replied, scowling.

So he'd seen the damned Skeeter article. Hermione hadn't even gotten the chance to tell her family before some vulture from the Prophet had snapped a picture of her ring finger. Add that bloody Skeeter woman into the mix and Hermione might as well have knocked on Ron's door and flashed it in his face.

"Ron, you know how Rita Skeeter is. You can't believe –"

"It's true, though, isn't it?" he asked, tiredly. "I don't believe a word that woman writes, but the picture said enough."

"It's true," Harry said, resigned. "Look mate, you can't let it get you into this state. So what if they're engaged? It's –"

"Harry," he said with an edge of impatience. "Why are you here?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned back into his chair.

"She would have gone as soon as she heard. You know how she is. She would have gone alone. How many times did you help her climb through that rubble? How often did you keep her from falling? Who would have been there to take her to St. Mungo's when she wouldn't even admit she was in labor?"

Harry shook his head, playing out that scenario.

"I wanted to thank you when you came for James' birth. I wanted to see how you'd been, and make fun of Percy's new haircut, and get together a pick-up game of quidditch one of these days. When you didn't show up, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You're the first," he said, bitterly. "The first thing on my mind when I heard about the bombs was getting to the people I loved. I found them all, and they were all busy looking for someone else. None of them were looking for me."

"Ron," Harry began, apologetically, but didn't know what to say.

"I became expendable the minute she stopped loving me," he said, quietly. "I stopped mattering to everyone when he started to matter to her."

"You know that's not true, Ron. You know what you did to turn peoples' backs."

Ron laughed hollowly.

"You know, I always said I wasn't sorry for lying about him. Who knew it meant this? That it would erase me from everyone's lives like this?"

"If you apologized, I know she'd forgive you, mate. If she forgave you, everyone else could too."

"She's in love with _him_, not me. She can forgive everything _he's_ done. My sins are permanent."

"Ron-"

"Harry, go back to your wife and son," he said with a hard edge. "There's nothing for you here."

* * *

When she heard the knock on the door, Hermione wondered who could be visiting at this hour. As much as he hated to be away, Draco had been putting in incredibly long hours since the bombings. So much new glass was needed to replace what had been destroyed that his company could hardly keep up with the orders. It was rare for him to come home to her earlier than 10 or 11 at night. It was only 8:30. And Draco didn't knock.

"Harry?" she said with surprise, answering the door. "Is everything alright? Is Ginny-"

"They're fine. Can I come in?"

"Of course," she said, swinging the door wide as Harry swept past her. Something was wrong. He was agitated. Anxious.

"It's Ron," he said.

* * *

How could Harry ask her to comfort the man who had put Draco in a cold cell, surrounded by Dementors?

"I don't think I can, Harry," she said sadly. "You can't have forgotten what he's done."

"You seemed able to forget for Malfoy."

"That's… Ron put another person at the mercy of Dementors!"

"Malfoy put an entire school at the mercy of Death Eaters… and a werewolf."

"He didn't know about-"

"I know, but tell me again what you've forgiven for Malfoy that you can't forgive for Ron. Tell me how it's different."

How _was_ it different?

_I love him_, came the answer at once. You could forgive such a lot for someone you loved. She felt her thoughts blur slightly and glared at Harry for the intrusion.

"You loved Ron once too," he said quietly, having heard the thoughts of Draco.

It saddened her.

"Never the way I love him."

"As a friend, then. You can forgive quite a lot for a friend too, can't you?"

"Harry-"

"We've been friends a long time, Hermione. There are things I couldn't have gotten through without you and Ron. This is something he won't get through without us."

Her resolve was crumbling around her.

"Draco would be-"

"Don't tell him, then. Or tell him after you've spoken with Ron. I hate telling you to go behind his back, but this is more important than grudges or jealousy or hurt feelings."

"You're that worried?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She sighed heavily.

"I suppose I should wear something other than pajamas," she said, walking away from Harry. What did you wear to see someone you'd been friends with for so long only to have it all end so horribly? What did you say to someone who had hurt the man you loved?

"Merlin help me."

* * *

Asher Bints was desperate. The balding wizard had followed the who's who of the wizarding world for 23 years, making a decent wage by delivering scandals, breaking news, covering marriages, intrigues and many other such developments as captured by his lens. Lately though, the competition had become brutal. Younger witches and wizards had managed to scoop every bit of work he'd had for months. He was running on his last few galleons.

What he needed was an exclusive.

He'd looked at every possible story, followed every lead, and come up dry. He needed something no one else would think of. Something no other photographer would try. In the midst of his brainstorming, Draco Malfoy walked past him, a spring in his step. The lad had just gotten engaged to the war hero, Hermione Granger. Everything these days went his way. People believed that good intentions fell out of every crack in that boy's body, but… what if he wasn't all he seemed? Photographers had stopped trailing the pair after they'd all but moved in together. They never did anything worth reporting. What if that gave Malfoy the space he needed to slip up now and again? Perhaps he was still good friends with some of his old gang. Perhaps he never really stopped being a Death Eater. Perhaps he wasn't being true to Granger. The possibilities were too good to pass up. From that moment on, he had followed Malfoy's every move.

Gods, the man was bloody boring. He went to work five days a week, saw the same people, wore the same ties, ate the same food, and was sickeningly devoted to his fiancée. He was seemingly bulletproof. So much so, that Bints had just about despaired of finding any work out of him. And the rain! Gods, the rain in this bloody country was the worst thing about his job. This morning, he'd arrived outside of the Chelsea apartment, and couldn't bring himself to follow anyone anywhere. He'd set himself up beside the building's entrance, sheltered from the weather, and resolved to wait until Malfoy returned from work.

The weather and the weary hours worked on him. He wasn't young anymore. These other wizardazzi had the stamina for this, while he seemed to be losing energy by the capful.

He woke with a start to a dark sky. Gods be damned, he'd slept through the whole day! Another day's possibilities wasted on him. Cursing himself, he rose to leave, determined to find a better sinner than Draco Malfoy, but just then, Hermione Granger left the building.

_Alone. Nicely dressed. And something to hide! Just look at her face turned down! Thank Merlin the day wasn't a waste!_

* * *

The last person Ron had expected to speak to ever again was standing before him. Gods, she was still beautiful. He ran a hand nervously through his disheveled hair, wishing he'd shaven… or washed his face… or even changed his shirt.

He'd been carrying questions around for her for more than two years, and now, with her three feet away from him, he couldn't find words.

Eventually, the words came for both of them. They talked about the bombings, about James' birth, about her healer training. They talked about anything but themselves. The tension grew from the subjects they were avoiding. They both felt it. At last, Ron broke down.

"It's hard as hell, Hermione. Seeing you with him. Knowing that you picked him instead of me."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair again.

"Even now, I feel like we could be together - that if you'd let me try, I could make you happy."

"Ron-"

"I know," he said, bitterly. "You love _him_. I'll never understand why it isn't me."

He ground his teeth together, hating to let go of something he'd held onto for so long.

"I never should have left you there. I'd hate myself every second of the day if I'd lost you that way. When I found you again, I thought I'd get to spend the rest of my life making it okay. I swore I'd prove how much you meant to me. I thought if I could just make you see..."

He broke off, shaking his head. The next part would be the hardest, but damn it, it had been weighing on him like a horcrux these past years. It was time to be free of it.

"I never should have lied about Malfoy."

There.

He had said it at last.

"But Gods, Hermione, you were mine!" he cried, looking anguished. "You were supposed to be mine! Imagine having that taken away after years of believing in it. After years of picturing what our life would be like – _our_ life, Hermione. A home, a family, us. No one told me that was gone! No one warned me about Malfoy! You let it all hit me like a damned bludger!"

He hadn't meant to do anything but apologize, but it had all come spilling out as though it would kill him to keep it inside a moment longer. Silence encompassed them.

"When was it over?" Ron asked in a broken voice. "When did you know?"

"It came on so slowly," she said, barely above a whisper. "Gods, I wanted to love you, Ron. I tried so hard to. We were what everyone expected, so I held on as long as I could. I don't even know if I realized it until you… until you left. I think I had known for months before that, but watching you leave made it too hard to push away anymore."

"Of all the things I wish I could change," he said, looking into her eyes, willing her to believe it.

"I know," she said, softly.

Another long silence descended upon them. Hermione broke it at last.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she said with tears in her eyes. "I wish we could have stayed friends somehow – that neither of us had expected more. I miss your friendship, Ron. Harry misses it. Your family misses you more than you know."

"My family," he laughed hollowly. "They could care less."

"You're wrong. You told Harry that no one came looking for you, but you weren't at home, Ron. Ginny found out about the bombings from you. Your Dad and Percy were at the Ministry. Your Mum was frantic over you – she and George didn't know where to begin looking. They hoped they'd find you at the Ministry, though, and they did."

Ron looked abashed.

"They care about you, Ron. _I_ care about you."

He looked at her questioningly.

"I hope someday we can be friends again," she said, "but you know that can't happen unless you make things right with Draco."

Ron scowled.

"You don't have to like each other, but for Merlin's sake, you put him in Azkaban."

"And he stole the woman I loved."

She looked away.

"Just think about it. Until then, go and see your family. Let Harry introduce you to his son. Let people in again."

She stood to go.

"Hermione," he said, standing and closing the distance between them. His gaze held hers before he let his hand cup her face gently for just a moment. "I've missed your friendship too."

He gathered her up in a quick hug.

"I'm glad you came," he said.


	23. Photographic Evidence, Part I

**Chapter 23**

**Photographic Evidence, Part I**

Hermione woke the next morning to an empty bed. She had felt Draco beside her at some point during the night, but he had come home long after she'd fallen asleep. She blinked at his vacant spot beside her, shaking her head. He was going to work himself to death like this. He needed rest.

She yawned and got up to brush her teeth, hoping to catch him before he left, but when she got to the kitchen, it was empty, and she had to push away her disappointment at finding him gone.

Then she looked again.

There was his coffee cup – still full and steaming. There was the morning Prophet, hardly touched. There was his briefcase by the door.

"Draco?"

Silence answered her.

"Draco? Are you here?"

She walked past the small kitchen table and something caught her eye.

It was Ron. And it was her. The two of them stretched across most of the front page.

She collapsed into the chair Draco must have been sitting in only minutes before and took up the Prophet.

**LOVE TRIANGLE! **

**Draco Malfoy Works Long Hours Rebuilding London **

**While Fiancée Rekindles Romance With Sworn Enemy!**

(story continued on pages 2,6 & 7)

She didn't read any further than the headline. She simply stared at the photograph. From this angle, only Ron's face was fully visible. There he was with his hand _caressing_ her face, and it looked so intimate that she recoiled at the sight of it. What in Merlin's name? That hadn't happened! Now he was holding her in his arms, his eyes closed, his face pressed against her hair. Gods, he had given her a hug, but it had been innocent – and so fleeting that she hadn't thought anything of it. The Prophet had somehow slowed their actions down to a ridiculous degree. They looked so long at each other that anything could be implied. His hand lingered on her face. The quick hug turned into an unhurried embrace.

Suddenly she stood, looking around her at the things Draco had left behind. He had seen this. He had left because of this.

_He can't think I would ever_…

But he _did_. He'd be here otherwise.

The realization threw her off balance. It made her feel hurt. How could he believe she'd ever do that to him? Especially with Ron! It was absurd! Gods, he'd _been_ there. He'd _seen_ what effect Ron's romantic advances had on her. He had watched as she physically cringed at his touch.

She could feel the anger rising up inside of her, and tried to push it away. Why didn't Draco have enough faith in her to simply ask her what had happened? How had they come to a day that he'd take the Prophet's word over hers? If he didn't trust her, how could they be together?

Gods, that was a dark thought with a bleak answer. She shook her head, scrambling for something positive. She needed to find him. She needed to see him face to face.

* * *

Draco had walked in a furious haze from the apartment, and had walked so long that he no longer knew where he was. He didn't care. A part of him desperately wanted Hermione to explain this to him – to tell him it meant nothing. But it meant too much to him, and he couldn't bear to look into her eyes and wonder if she had lied. _Why_ she had lied. Unbidden, graphic images of Hermione and Weasley entered his thoughts, and he shook his head violently.

_She never loved him_, he told himself. _She couldn't even bear his touch_.

The photograph of them together flashed before him once more and he clenched his jaw. Nothing she could say about it would make it better. She had been with _him_ last night. Nothing could make that go away.

* * *

Hermione had been to his office, had walked the entire route from the apartment, had tried at the Potters', had looked in every shop, every pub, every park she could think of, but she hadn't found him. Everywhere she'd gone, she received glares. Witches and wizards shook their heads and whispered to each other. It didn't improve her temper.

Her thoughts flashed angrily to Ron. Could he have set her up? But, no – he hadn't known she was coming! She stopped and picked up another copy of the Prophet.

_Photo by Asher Bints_.

Turning on the spot, she apparated to the Potters' house once more.

"Ginny, I need a favor from Kreacher," she said, her eyes burning.

* * *

Draco had walked long and far without realizing where he was going. When he began recognizing landmarks again, he looked around. He was in Weasley's neighborhood. He fought bitterly with himself for several minutes, rooted to the spot.

_Confront Weasley_, he told himself. _If anyone would tell me the truth about this… in excruciating, soul-crushing detail, it would be him. _

He couldn't move. If Weasley told him it was true, he could never un-hear it. He would be severed from Hermione, from the happiness of that life, forever. He didn't know if he was strong enough to give it all up… to give _her_ up.

But he had to know.

He started moving again, and the storm within grew until he thought it would tear him apart. There was Weasley's door.

* * *

Ron had been waiting for one of them to show up on his doorstep, but he still wasn't prepared for this. He hadn't seen Malfoy face to face since coming through the vanishing cabinet. He hadn't had a civil conversation with Malfoy… ever. And now here he was, disintegrating in front of him.

Nothing about him would have attracted the attention of passers-by. He was clean-shaven, neatly groomed, impeccably dressed, as always. But his face. He looked as though he'd been through hell and back. His eyes burned with anger and sorrow, jealousy and fear. He had come to Ron for answers he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

Ron stepped back to let him in, and closed the door quietly behind them.

Malfoy sat silently, glaring at the floor. Ron wondered if he dared to speak, or if he should wait for the questions to begin.

"Is it true?" Malfoy asked finally, his voice ragged.

Ron hesitated for just a moment, realizing the power he held. He had the power to destroy this man's life – his future.

"She was here last night," he said, allowing himself a moment of selfish pleasure at the look on Malfoy's face.

"She came to tell me… that she loved you," he groaned. "That I had to make things right with you."

Ron watched him swallow hard, and take a deep breath.

"If you're lying-"

"Why the hell would I lie about that, Malfoy? How much do you think I wanted to hear her say any of that?"

After a few moments locked in silence, Ron couldn't hold back any more. He'd let go of most of the heartache when Hermione had come, but he was still full of so much anger.

"I would have made her happier than you ever could have," he ground out, waiting for the outburst it would cause. Only it didn't come. Looking up, he watched Malfoy grapple with the statement.

"That terrifies you, doesn't it?" Ron asked, the sense of power returning to him full force. "That's why you're here. You have the same bloody list of reasons playing in your head as I do – reasons it should be us, not you."

Still, Malfoy said nothing. He simply glared at the floor, his face full of anguish. The man was falling apart in front of him, and Ron was surprised to find that he wasn't enjoying it. Not even slightly. He'd been in Malfoy's place three years ago. He'd been the one questioning everything about himself. He knew the type of pain he was inflicting with every word he spoke. And he couldn't do it. Anger gave way to pity, and he exhaled in defeat.

"I hate you, Malfoy. I'll always bloody hate you," he said in a dead voice. Taking a deep breath, he finally said what he had refused to admit for three years:

"She never loved me like she does you."

He rubbed his face with his hands, as though trying to wake up from a nightmare.

"She would have played along if you hadn't shown up, though. Everyone expected her to. And _that_ bloody terrifies me. How long would she have kept it up? How long until we both felt it too much to keep going?"

His voice was barely above a whisper now.

"Our whole lives led up to _us_. That's what made it so hard to accept. I'll never understand why it's you and not me."

* * *

Asher Bints wasn't new to this sort of thing. He knew how to protect himself from retribution. He had a place all set up with the small fortune he'd made. Unplottable, protective spells, the works. He just had to lie low for a while and wait for the initial shock and anger to wear away.

He hadn't counted on Hermione Granger. She'd sent a bleeding house elf after him and now he was being held at wand point, forced to hand over the original photograph. He was good at reading people. He always had been. So when Hermione Granger held a wand to his head and threatened to obliviate him, he knew she wasn't bluffing. He also knew he'd never get work again. Her next stop would be the Prophet to demand a retraction.

* * *

When she arrived at the shabby building that housed the Prophet, she was shocked to see Draco there already. And Ron with him! They were both in a heated argument with the head editor.

"He'll go on record discrediting the entire story!" Draco was shouting.

"Mr. Malfoy, if my instincts are correct, you have threatened Mr. Weasley within an inch of his life to do just that!"

Ron looked highly insulted.

"Think of who you're talking to," he said angrily. "I'd die before he made me do this against my will."

"Gentlemen, your dedication in this matter is touching, however, as you have no proof but your assertion that this story is false, I have no choice but to believe my eyes. The photograph tells a different story entirely."

"The photograph's a lie," Hermione spat, stepping forward and throwing the original on his desk.

She watched Draco's face as the original played out, but it was unreadable.

"You have an exclusive, Mr. Neely," she said, crossing her arms. "Here are the key players, perfectly willing to give candid interviews. Just think of the headline. People love a scandal, but people love a happy ending more."

The editor looked as though he was still wavering.

Draco picked up the photograph.

"Or we could always find someone looking to discredit the Prophet."

"Oh, alright, then," he said grumpily.

Motioning to another staff member, he sat down.

"Let's get started."

* * *

_Gods, what a mess_, he thought bitterly as they entered the apartment. They hadn't spoken the whole way home. They'd been too on edge, each fighting their own silent demons. The door shutting behind them seemed to spark the dry tinder of friction between them, and they glared at each other.

Bloody fucking hell. He hated how he felt right now. Bitter. Angry. Insecure. It all came crashing in on him now that the story had been retracted. Last night he'd come home to her fast asleep – lovely and serene. This morning, he'd held her close, breathing in the scent of her before he had to go. He felt betrayed.

He knew they needed to talk, but he was afraid of what he might say. He knew he'd have to use every ounce of restraint he had. Her back was toward him now, and he reached for her.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped.

And just like that, the restraint he thought he'd been building up was gone.

"By all means, practice telling men that more often," he said contemptuously. "You could save us both a lot of fucking trouble."

"You ass," she cried. "You walk along in life as though you've done no wrong to anyone, but you're always happy to blame me for what others have done!"

"Would it have killed you to think about their actions? Would it have killed you to drive home the fact that you're taken?"

"Do you honestly believe that either of them were ignorant of that? How must you think of me! How must I behave around other men in your mind! I can just see the visions in your head! _Excuse me, Mr. Dawley, I know this isn't quite the setting for it, but I haven't heard from my boyfriend in a few hours – fancy a snog?" _

"Don't-"

"_Ron, I've been dying to feel your arms around me since we broke up! Don't worry – Draco will never know!"_

"STOP," he yelled, and she stared at him. It was the first time he'd ever yelled during an argument.

"Stop," he said again. "Yes – alright? I'm a jealous man. I have a quick temper. I don't do well with rubbish like this. You know all this about me, Hermione. For all your anger, you can't tell me you're surprised.

"Surprised? No. Disappointed? –"

"Oh, leave off with the disappointment for fuck's sake, and put yourself in my place for two bloody seconds. Tell me what part of my reaction to that bastard, Dawley, you objected to. The part where I _didn't_ torture or kill him? The part where I kept my composure for _hours_ as we finished searching the Ministry?"

"Didn't torture him?" she asked doubtfully. "For something as simple as comforting me, the man still jumps at the sound of your name!"

"Simply comforting you?" he said, looking at her angrily, "If I'd let him put his lips on you – if I'd waited another full second before acting – would I have been more justified?"

She couldn't meet his gaze.

"And this morning?" she asked quietly, looking at him once more. "You just left. You didn't even-"

"Of course I left!" he said, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't think I can make you understand. I don't think you can comprehend what it meant to see you that close to him."

"It was a quick hug – you saw the photograph-"

"A quick hug at a meeting I knew nothing about!"

"I was going to tell you first thing this morning! It didn't mean anything!"

"It means everything, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Don't you get it? You were _his_ before you were mine. I had to stand by and _let_ him put his hands on you… _watch_ as he kissed you… as he staked his claim on you in every way you'd let him. I thought you believed I could make you happier than him. I thought I'd never have to watch him touch you again. Then there you were together on the fucking front page, behind my fucking back, and it wasn't just me watching him touch you, it was everyone. It was everyone wondering if you'd changed your mind, me most of all. So, yes. I fucking left. What the fuck did you expect?"

He slumped down.

"What did you expect?" he said quietly this time, sounding defeated.

"Gods, Draco," she said barely above a whisper. "I was angry with you for not trusting me – for taking the Prophet's word over mine, but this? This is worse. You think I would go back to him. You think I would change my mind about us… about you."

He sighed rubbing his forehead, trying to ward off the headache he knew was coming.

"We knew so little about each other when we started off," he said, his voice low. "And once we got through everything – Hogwarts, Azkaban, months apart – we never looked back."

"Was that a bad thing? Not looking back?"

"I didn't know you – _really_ know you – in Hogwarts. I still don't know anything about Weasley, except that I hate him. I saw you with him when we were all trapped, and I know you didn't love him then… but a part of me wants to know what you looked like when you did."

"Why on Earth would you-"

"Because the only part of your history I know is what I saw between you those three weeks. And sometimes it makes me think… what if I hadn't been in the picture? Maybe you just needed time to process what happened during that year."

"Gods, you can't really believe that! Even when I 'loved' him, it was never the way I feel about you. You _know _that."

"Do I? Do _you_? If I hadn't interrupted the course of things between you…" he sighed and stood. "Look, I'm going home for a few days. We can both think about it while I'm gone."

It took her a moment of shock to realize that 'home' didn't mean here. He was leaving.


	24. Photographic Evidence, Part II

He'd been 'home' for three days now. Gods, he hated this place. What the fuck had he been thinking when he decorated? Every piece of furniture here was uncomfortable – even the bed. Everything was drained of color. There were no photos hung on the walls or cluttering the surfaces, no well-worn books on the end tables. There was no scent of her on his pillow… _stop_, he told himself. _Just fucking stop._

He hadn't been here much, anyhow. After skipping out on the day of the Prophet article, he was working all the more to make up for it. Throwing himself into work had been just the remedy he needed. He hardly had time to think of the fact that Hermione hadn't been to see him – hadn't even _tried_ to contact him. He was too wrapped up in his work to wonder what she was doing… packing all his things to get them out of her apartment? Making room for Weasley to move in… _Stop,_ _goddamn it,_ he told himself again.

It didn't matter. They were supposed to be taking this time to re-evaluate things. It had been his fucking suggestion. And he was far too busy to regret his request that she think about Weasley. Far too busy.

When he got home on the fourth day, it was almost midnight. He hadn't even needed to stay that late. The manic pace he'd set himself those first few days had seen to every bit of work he could get his hands on. But he stayed late anyhow. His office chair was more comfortable than the ones here. And there was a picture of he and Hermione framed on his desk… _stop, stop, stop, just fucking STOP!_

"Stop what?" she asked.

Had he said that out loud? He wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating. The long hours, the bad food, the alcohol… it didn't seem far-fetched.

"You can't keep working like this, Draco," she said, her face full of concern.

She was real, he decided. If she'd been a product of his imagination, she'd be wearing much less.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.

She looked hurt by that, but hid it well.

"Please," she said, "sit down. I have something to show you."

Warily, he approached the opposite end of the couch she occupied. What the hell could she want to show him? Was Weasley here? He looked around quickly to make sure they were alone. Then he glanced down surreptitiously to make sure his ring was still there on her finger. She hadn't missed either of the visual scans.

He sat as far away from her as the couch would allow, and that hurt too, only this time he saw that she couldn't hide it from him.

"Are you really so repulsed by me?" she asked sadly.

_I have to sit this far away to keep my head clear,_ he thought, getting up and moving closer. He still left enough room that their bodies wouldn't accidentally touch.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone completely neutral.

She held up a bulging envelope.

"I've gone around to everyone we know," she said. "Even Ron. And I've asked for all the pictures they have of me. I told them it was for your wedding gift."

He started to speak, but what the hell was she talking about? His face must have shown his confusion.

"Here, I've pulled out a few to show you. They're in chronological order," she said, beginning to lay them out in front of him.

They were all of she and Weasley. Why the fuck was she doing this to him? There she was in every damn photo looking at Weasley as though he was her hero. Her love for him was evident.

He stood to leave, but she was faster, her hands latching onto him, pulling him back down beside her.

"Just keep looking," she said firmly.

She continued to lay the photos out in a line, finally reaching the end of the small stack. He looked at her questioningly, but studied the photos before him. Then he saw it. Suddenly, Hermione wasn't looking at Weasley anymore. Suddenly Weasley was the one looking.

"You said a part of you wanted to know what this looked like."

"What you looked like when you loved him," he corrected, unable to look at her.

"Fair enough," she said, sweeping aside the photos where Weasley was the only one genuinely smiling anymore.

Then she brought out a second stack of photos and began laying them out beneath the ones of her and Weasley.

"This is what I look like when I love you," she said quietly.

He watched photo after photo play through of two people deliriously happy, uncontrollably in love. In every photo, they were touching somehow – his arm around her waist, her hand in his. He recognized one of the photos from Hermione's bedside drawer – she'd taken it when she'd kissed him awake one early morning. She kept it hidden in that drawer because neither of them were clothed beneath that soft, white sheet… because he'd woken up, hungrily answering each kiss, pulling her against himself. Gods, he loved that photo.

He looked at the top row again, glaring at Weasley as she smiled softly at him. Then he switched rows once more, watching her gaze lovingly at the picture version of himself, watching her smile radiantly up at him, watching her kiss him with such abandon, that he almost felt like an intruder on that moment. He took it all in – all of the photos - and realized what she had wanted to show him. She had wanted to show him the difference. And looking at the two sets of photos against each other, he knew she was right. There was no comparison. Weasley had never stood a chance against what they had.

"Draco, I wanted to-"

But then he was kissing her.

He pulled her into his lap so that she knelt, straddling him, and his arms encircled her waist. She was kissing him back, now, with an intensity that made him gasp for breath when they broke apart. He tugged at the fabric of her shirt, not even pulling in the right direction in his desperation. His whole body remembered the way she liked to be touched, the places she liked to be kissed, the way his weight against her, once he'd laid her down, could make her eyes close, drunk with sensation. And gods, she knew him too. She knew how he liked her to move against him, how he liked her hands gliding down between them to stroke him, how it pushed him over the edge to hear her whisper what it felt like when he was inside of her.

_Weasley never stood a fucking chance_, he thought, as she cried out in pleasure beneath him.


	25. Forever

**Chapter 25**

**Forever**

Standing upon the balcony, Hermione took in the scene around her. Twisted pines, jagged rocks, white dunes of sand… and sea, as far as her eyes could reach. It wasn't the type of beach everyone could appreciate, but the wild, raw beauty of this place was everything Hermione could have hoped for. After all they had been through in the past three years, she needed to feel small and insignificant. She needed to be a single speck of sand on a beach with millions. She needed the sound of water and sky, pines stirring in the coastal breeze, and Draco.

She heard him now, as he came to her… felt his warmth as his arms encircled her… as he kissed her hair.

"Good morning," he breathed softly against her neck.

She smiled against the warmth of his breath upon her skin. It had been years since she'd felt this much peace… maybe she'd _never_ felt it quite like this before. Draco's lips brushed softly against her once more, and she knew that he felt it too.

It was better when she was near him – her body against his – but even then, he had never slept well. Her heart had ached every time she'd been jolted awake in his arms. She'd spent many a night kissing away the terrors of his past, holding him so close that there would only be room for her love. This was their second morning in this place, and he had slept as though none of it had ever happened.

Her eyes wandered to the arms around her waist. There was the mark on his left arm, and she couldn't help feeling attached to it now. Draco wouldn't be the man she loved without that mark – without having seen the horrors that had opened his eyes. She thought back to the first time she'd seen it… the first time she'd opened _her_ eyes... the first time she'd really _seen_ him. Letting her hand trace down the length of his arm, she stopped to lace her fingers through his, and the butterflies stirred up inside of her, refusing to settle. She looked into his eyes, her heart still racing from the sight of the platinum band on his finger. She knew it would be months before she was used to seeing it there.

It had been two days since she had become his wife, and she couldn't imagine loving anyone the way she loved him.

* * *

The moment the first invitation had been sent out, the Prophet knew every detail of it, and had reported it all with abandon. For two months, she and Draco were trailed by an entourage of reporters, capturing every cake tasting, every bouquet selection, and very nearly barging in on several dress fittings. At last, she had graduated Healer Training and the momentous day was upon them.

Though the invitation had called for a midday ceremony, the reception hall began filling at 8:00 am. Hopeful witches and wizards without invitations queued up with the other guests, and to their shock, no one was turned away. The hall had been magically enlarged to a cavernous size. The puzzled guests sat beside the eager strangers, as they all looked about themselves.

The buzz of inquiry had begun the moment the doors had opened. _Where was the aisle?_ _Why weren't all the guests facing in a single direction?_ The fact was that the reception hall appeared to be set up for… well, a _reception_. At 10:30 am, musicians arrived and began to play for their entertainment. At 11:00 am, waiters arrived and began serving drinks and hor d'oeuvres, causing a buzz of excitement and scandal. _Food and drink before the wedding? Who had ever heard of such a thing? _

A hush fell over the crowd as the clock struck 12:00. Everyone craned their necks, looking for some sign of the impending ceremony. Suddenly, four large, white projection screens rose up from the center of the hall, one facing in each direction. The musicians began to play once more.

And then they appeared: Hermione walking toward Draco, a shy smile playing on her lips, her simple white dress flowing softly over white sand. It was a wizard photograph. When it had played through, another took its place. And another.

It wasn't a ceremony at all. The two had already been married on a distant beach, by the looks of it. The crowd stared speechlessly at the screens until the final photograph had played through, and the words, _Thank you for sharing in our celebration_ had faded away.

Blaise Zabini broke the echoing silence that followed with a hearty laugh, and began applauding. _Leave it to the Malfoys_, he thought, still laughing. The entire hall had burst into applause, laughter and jubilation when they heard him, and were calling for a second viewing of the photographs.

No one was even offended, he realized, looking around him in wonder. They'd found a way to be left in peace, and no one was upset about it. _Leave it to the Malfoys,_ he thought again, with bewildered awe and respect.

* * *

He hadn't known if it would work, but not a single uninvited photographer had shown up. Not a single unwanted guest had tried to squeeze themselves into the ceremony. No reporters had buzzed in his ear the moment he'd kissed his bride, asking him how it felt to be a married man.

Instead, he had watched the woman he loved walk toward him, surrounded by people who cared about them. He couldn't have said what she wore, or what flowers she held. All he could see was the smile meant only for him. All he could feel was her hand in his. All he could hear was her promising to belong to him forever.

It had been two days since she'd become his wife, and he had never felt peace like this before. He'd held onto her this morning, as they looked out upon the sea, and thought back on every moment leading up to this. Her fingers tracing the mark on his arm… her eyes saying she trusted him… her hands smoothing the linen bandage against him… that first burning kiss…

She laced her fingers through his and turned in his arms. Her eyes held his, and he felt the same jolt he'd felt two mornings ago, when she'd promised him forever. He had never imagined loving anyone the way he loved her.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Draco woke groggily with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Turning, he was met with a head of hopelessly wild blonde curls.

"Dad," she said in a tremulous whisper. "I think the bowtruckle of Bangleria is in my wardrobe."

Draco groaned as he rose from bed, taking his daughter's tiny hand. He'd scolded his son for making up the rubbish, but clearly, the tale had done its work already.

"Rose," he said, squeezing her hand, "Where do bowtruckles live?"

"In wand trees."

"And do we have any wand trees close by?"

"No, but Dad-"

"And where, may I ask, is Bangleria?"

Silence.

"Scor made it up, love," he said, opening her wardrobe. "There's no such place as Bangleria. There are no bowtruckles roaming the house…"

"But let's just say-"

"…and even if there were, you know I'd never let anything hurt you."

"I know," she said, hurrying on, "But what if you couldn't protect me? What if-"

Scooping her up, he sat down at the foot of her bed.

There were so many things he could tell her about himself that would make her understand that nothing – _nothing_ – would ever hurt his family while he was alive to protect them. He could tell her about the very real terrors and threats in the world… about the evil souls lurking through life. He could tell her that even those evil souls wouldn't dare cross the Malfoys or the Potters or the Weasleys… that every one of her friends had parents who were more than a match for anything that could threaten them. He could tell her the story of how he'd fallen in love with her Mum – the real story – the living nightmares they'd overcome together.

But she was four, and the worst thing in her innocent world was a bowtruckle from Bangleria. And so he cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently.

"No 'what ifs' about it, love," he said softly. "I will always protect you."

"Even if the bowtruckle was as big as our house?" she asked sleepily, her tangled curls snuggled against him.

"You've never had to see me protect someone I love, Rose," he said kissing the top of her head. "Even a bowtruckle as big as the moon wouldn't stand a chance."

She smiled with a confidence in him that made his chest tight.

Hugging her close, he lifted her to the head of her bed and pulled the covers up around her. Her tiny arms flew up to hug him around the neck, and he kissed her cheek.

Good night, love," he said softly. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

...

* * *

Thank you readers for all of your feedback. I have loved writing this story, and I'm so happy to think that others have loved it too! I will be posting once more to answer any questions that have been asked in the reviews. If you have any lingering, unanswered questions, ask them now and I'll do my best to address them all.

Thank you again!


	27. Questions and Answers

First of all, allow me to say how overwhelmed I am with all of your wonderful comments and reviews! I am truly grateful that you took the time to read this piece and give me your thoughts, questions and praise! I feel a special camaraderie with those reviewers who kept checking back in chapter after chapter to wonder aloud at the turn of events and rejoice in the small triumphs of the characters - believe me when I say I hung on every word and delighted in every compliment!

I wanted to provide one final post to answer any questions that readers cared to ask. Here are the questions and answers in order of appearance:

"**Who is the large bird!?"**

The large bird/man animagus was my version of Fenrir Greyback. He's not technically on anyone's side but his own.

"**What made you do that Fleur-imperio thing? That's harsh."**

I apologize for the graphic nature of "A Broken Flower." Unfortunately war is terribly graphic, and it was too much to hope that all the Hogwarts survivors could come through such an experience unscathed. I wanted to build off of the character of Fenrir Greyback to show that sometimes, regardless of 'good' and 'bad' sides, some souls are simply evil and have no allegiance to anything but their own perversions. War is a haven for souls like these, and so many have suffered terribly because of the situations war can present.

"**I'm still confused by what happened at Hogwarts and why Hogwarts is now safe enough for Ravvi to reside there." **

The Hogwarts battle was the catalyst for the possession of the creatures by Earth Magic. The moment the creatures turned, the Hogwarts survivors essentially became an 'infection' they had to eradicate. When all of the survivors were finally gone (to Malfoy Manor), the curse of possession was broken, allowing Hogwarts to return to its former state. Two years had passed between the end of the possession and Ravvi residing at Hogwarts. During that time, it was rebuilt and resumed its former function as a school for young witches and wizards.

"**What happened to the others over the past two years." **

Several of the other survivors are seen throughout the rest of the story. If the characters do not appear in the remainder of the story, they have faded into day-to-day life.

"**East Finchley is not the wealthiest London neighborhood: I don't know what your point is here, but you might want to be thinking Knightsbridge, Mayfair, Kensington, Regent's Park, Park Lane instead."**

My American background got the best of me here! I tried researching this online to get an idea of where Malfoy would be most likely to live. Clearly, Google betrayed me! Please replace East Finchley in your mind with a truly wealthy neighborhood.

"**I must say my mind traveled to something else when it said Draco was in New York, and if you were following the correct HP timeline it fit, and I almost cried."**

As an American, it is much easier for me to reference tragedies in other countries. If you'll recall, not long after September 11th, the London Underground was bombed. I was trying to keep to the timeline, but I conveniently left out the tragedy that had left its biggest mark on me.

**I received several comments along these lines:**

"**Personally, I don't understand why every writer insists on making things right with the trio at the end of the story. There are some situations where the friendship should be allowed to end. I think this is one of them."**

"**I really hope you don't intend for Hermione and Ron to become friends again. Honestly, I think Hermione needs to be done with Ron and move on with Draco."**

This was a difficult situation for me to resolve, largely because I feel as you all seem to. That being said, I had to consider it as though it were a real life situation. Realistically, Ron will always be a part of the Weasley family, and will always be connected with the Potters because of it. The Malfoys will always be close with the Potters, and so I had to resolve things between Draco, Ron and Hermione to a degree. I compromised with the fact that they'll never be friends – merely acquaintances who (in Ron and Draco's case, at least) are barely able to tolerate each other.

**What happened to Henry (the son of the muggle who rescued Harry)?**

Henry was a casualty of the muggle bombings, I'm sorry to say.

**I caused an unintended panic in the epilogue:**

"**Where's Hermione? And where's Draco's son?"**

"**Your epilogue leaves so many loose ends with Hermione. For all we know, he could be a single father because she somehow died? You never know and it's leaving me hanging."**

Rest assured, Hermione was asleep beside Draco when Rose woke him, and their son is fast asleep in his room. Looking back, I could have added something along the lines of:

_Draco woke groggily with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Pulling his arms gently from around Hermione, he turned, and was met with a head of hopelessly wild blonde curls._

_"Dad," she said in a tremulous whisper. "I think the bowtruckle of Bangleria is in my wardrobe."_

_Draco groaned as he rose from bed, taking his daughter's tiny hand, and frowning at his son's bedroom door as they walked past. He'd scolded his son for making up the rubbish, but clearly, the tale had done its work already._

_"Rose," he said, squeezing her hand, "Where do bowtruckles live?"_

"**You wrote: 'her hands smoothing the linen bandage against him…' Did I miss something? To what does this refer?"**

My goal was to recap all of the moments that led up to them on that balcony, together and happy at last. The bandage was a reference to their first attraction in Chapter 5: Secrets.

"_The only way to bind his wound was to wrap clean linen completely around his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing steady as her arms reached around his body, softly smoothing the cloth against him."_

"**If I may ask, how old were you when you wrote this? If you've kept this for hidden for six years, then I don't think you should have."**

I thank you very sincerely for the compliment! I didn't keep the story hidden – rather, it was an unfinished work for six years. As I grew up, the story did too, gaining from my own life experiences, and at last, after six long years, I wrote the final chapters. I was 20 when I began this story, and had yet to experience what love could truly mean.

**Several of you want to know what happened to Ron Weasely:**

"**I kinda want to know what happened to Ron."**

"**Who does he marry?" **

Things are never as they once were for Ron. Although he has accepted that Hermione has moved on, the rift caused by their separation never truly heals. He will always be a part of the Weasley family and he will always be a part of Harry and Ginny's lives, but he and Draco are still barely-disguised enemies, and he is not able to be close with Hermione because of that strain. Our tragic hero, Ron, never marries. He is a chronic bachelor, holding onto girlfriends for a few months at a time, never able to commit to something more because of the heartbreak he has known.

"**How old are Draco, Hermione, Ron and the others when they get married?"**

Following the HP timeline, Harry and Ginny are only 18 when they marry, but following in her Mother's footsteps, Ginny's justification has always been: "Yes, well, _we were made for each other__,_ what was the point in waiting?"

Draco and Hermione are nearly 21 when they marry, although I think you'll agree that war and conflict have given all the characters more wisdom behind those years than most.

"**Could you do something like this – romance/drama – for Hunger Games too?"**

I am so flattered that you think me equal to the task. I can't tell you how many times during the past six years those closest to me have suggested that I just write my own story and publish it… _think of the money you'd make… if you're working this hard on something already, it might as well be worth it._ Unfortunately, all the arguments are invalid. It _is_ worth it to me. I can only write what I love – what I'm truly passionate about – what I can still love after six years of writing. There are so few things this rings true for, and I'm sorry to say that Hunger Games is not one of them.

**"Are you writing another story?"**

In fact, I do have a story I'm outlining now. It seems I'll always need that outlet of writing what I love. I wish I could give you a time frame for its completion, but I can't hurry these things, as you have seen. I can promise that I will not post another story until I can present it in the same manner as this one. There is nothing more frustrating for me than reading a story without an ending, and my story won't be one of them. I can, however, leave you with a preview. This story is much darker than "Heaven's So Far Away."

* * *

As he walked down the corridor, a slender hand reached out and took his. _Hermione_. She looked as though she wanted to tell him something, but the intensity of his gaze paralyzed her.

He was glad she had found him. He would leave in a little over an hour – most of them would. If they were successful in overtaking this headquarters, the Dark Lord's forces would be thrown into confusion and chaos. If they were successful, it would be enough to turn the tide. They might not come back this time… certainly not all of them would. It was a larger attack than the duels and skirmishes they were used to – but no one talked about that. He was glad she had found him… to say goodbye.

Despite everything they had been through together, he hadn't found the nerve to tell her what she meant to him. She had a fucking boyfriend. He didn't believe she was in love with Weasley, so he had waited.

And waited.

Two years had passed him by, watching Hermione's cold romance unfold. He waited for Weasley to lose her respect. He waited for people's expectations of their relationship to grow stale. He waited for her to turn from Weasley and see him standing there in front of her. But routines are important in a time of war, and everyone carefully maintained the status quo.

So he waited.

She always came to tell him goodbye. Always took his hand, squeezed it gently and said: "Be safe." Another routine. Another goodbye. Another battle. Another homecoming, watching Weasley take her triumphantly into his arms.

This time was different. This time _felt_ different. Anytime someone left the apparation point, it was with the understanding that they might not come back. This time, most of them _knew_ they wouldn't. This single assault was too important to lose. Harry Saint Potter himself had given a heart-rending speech to the fighters about why this one was worth dying for. Maybe that's what made him feel different. Potter had broken the routine with that speech. When routines are broken, anything is possible.

He looked down at Hermione's hand gently squeezing his own, and he knew _he_ had to break the routine. Maybe then she would see the possibilities.

* * *

Three years ago, the Dark Lord's forces had seized control of the Ministry. It was meant to be a silent take over – a silent occupation. Fear was a powerful weapon, and people living in fear were as good as allies. Somehow, though, they knew. The Ministry was waiting for them. There were Order members waiting to ambush them at every stage, causing the imperius-laden plan to fall apart. Their motivation was stronger than the Ministry's, though, and their numbers were great enough to overwhelm the waiting forces. It wasn't just their own lives at stake in this venture. Failure meant the death of their families, their friends, everyone who mattered to them. They had seen the Dark Lord wipe out entire branches of family trees when someone had the misfortune to fail him. Their fear of the Dark Lord's wrath had given them a haunted zeal that allowed them to carve their way through the resistance in the end. They had won. But things hadn't gone according to plan. Winning like this meant losing their greatest weapon. Alone and suspicious, people would have been weak. Now, those who opposed them rose up, united, to fight.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had been an informant for a mere 12 days when he approached Harry with the plans of the Ministry overthrow. Harry trusted his motives and information completely. Malfoy's father had died at the hands of Voldemort only a month before. Lucius' crime had been trying to smuggle his family out of the country. When they were found out, his wife and son were forced to watch his execution. That's when Malfoy had approached them with an offer. He would provide them with information until it seemed like his position was compromised. In return, he and his mother were to receive full amnesty and protection when they defected.

It had turned out to be the most important deal Harry had ever made. The information Malfoy had given them about the Ministry overthrow had changed the entire nature of the war. It had given them a clear enemy. More importantly, it had given the diffident Wizarding community a clear reason to fight. That was the official start of the war, and the official birth of the Wizarding Rebellion. A Slytherin, a pureblood, and a Death Eater – Malfoy had given them the upper hand.

When they didn't hear from Malfoy in the following week, they delighted in their good luck. If his position was uncompromised, they would still have access to the movements of Voldemort's forces. When they didn't hear from Malfoy for more than a month, they had no choice but to mark him as a casualty of war. A memorial was held, and his bravery and sacrifice were formally commended. He arrived a week later, carrying the limp form of his mother. In the end, it hadn't mattered to Voldemort who had given the information. He had tortured anyone who had the slightest connection with Potter, be it only a childhood grudge from Hogwarts days. Draco was unharmed, but Narcissa's torture and imprisonment had served to punish him more than any physical pain could have. No one knew how he had escaped with her, but by the time he reached them it was too late. She died on a Saturday.

Everyone handles death differently. Some people mourn. Some break. Some persist in denial, avoiding the reality of their loss. Draco Malfoy fought. He had found Harry within days of his mother's death and demanded to join the outgoing groups battling Voldemort's forces. Harry still didn't like Malfoy, but he understood him. He had granted his request at once.

No one else in the groups trusted him. School-age grudges and bad feelings abounded, but Malfoy ignored them. He fought with an intensity and a single-mindedness that bordered on madness. He fought as though he didn't mean to live. Whatever the other rebels had expected, they weren't prepared for the vengeful, driven man fighting beside them. A few months time saw his courage respected, his skill relied upon, and his advice sought by others. Malfoy ignored them.

Harry hadn't thought he'd have to reign in Malfoy's new obsession, but everyone could see that he was killing himself. By steps, by stages – fight upon fight – duel after duel. He meant to die. And Harry couldn't watch it happen.

"I'm cutting you down to one outbound assignment a week."

Malfoy was furious. Harry didn't care.

"That's the same rate that every other person here deploys," Harry said, with irritation.

"I don't give a damn what the others do," he said, deathly quiet.

"If you're desperate, you can do one more each week with the acquisition teams."

"You'd rather have me with the _scavengers_ than the fighters?" he sneered.

"Those are your options, Malfoy. I'm not punishing you. I'm trying to give you a life outside of revenge."

"What. Fucking. Life? What do you expect me to do?"

"What you do with your time is up to you."

No. It hadn't gone well. Malfoy had continued to make his way to the apparation point daily, and to raise hell when his apparation with various groups was forbidden. It was only a matter of time until things went too far. Three weeks after Harry had reduced his involvement, Malfoy splinched himself badly. He had tried to apparate with a fighter group while being wrestled away by two supervising wizards. After that, Harry had him confined to a separate part of the headquarters.

* * *

He looked down at Hermione's hand holding his own, and he knew he had to break the routine. Maybe then she would see the possibilities. His free hand reached up, cupping her face, and he took a step closer. They were almost touching. She was so tantalizingly close that he could feel his heart pounding against every inch of his body, willing him to take her into his arms... to pull her body against his. Instead, he kept her hand in his, and caressed her cheek. His eyes hadn't left hers since the moment she'd reached for him, but now he couldn't help letting them wander down to her lips. He watched them part as she drew in an unsteady breath. He could lose everything he'd waited for with this single action, but he knew that doing nothing would cost him more. Slowly. He moved more slowly than he through was possible. He moved until his lips were a breath away from hers. And he waited there, hoping to feel her take that final step.

* * *

Dear Draco,

They say I can't keep coming every day. They say I'm killing myself the worst way I can. Maybe they're right. They're wrong about everything else, but this has been killing me for such a long time now. I think a part of me wants to let it happen, but, gods, then I think, 'what if?' What if someday you're better? What if someday, when I walk through that door, you know me again? And so I can't. I can't keep coming every day. I can't keep introducing myself as though we're strangers. I can't keep searching your eyes for that spark of recognition. I can't keep hoping that maybe _this_ will be the day you're whole again. It's killing me.

* * *

Hermione isn't sure what she thought her life would be… but not this. Never this.

It had taken everyone she knew to confront her with her meager existence. She'd had to admit that she wasn't living… not really. But what could they expect from her? How could she let go of _this_ without letting go of _him_?

It wasn't fair. Of course it wasn't.

They'd survived the entire war, they'd even had that first sweet taste of happiness in the months that had followed. They should have known better than to think it would last. All it had taken was a single Death Eater lurking in the shadows, and her life had turned into _this_. Waiting for him to remember her… or them.

He woke every morning without even knowing his own name. She could spend hours every day explaining his life to him, begging him to come back to her… the worst days were the ones he seemed to understand.

She had started taking days off from her heart-wrenching routine, and was ashamed at the relief she felt from the small breaks. The small breaks had slowly stretched longer and longer, until her visits were far and few between.

Somehow, though, she still couldn't help writing every day she wasn't there. Sometimes it was just a simple note to say, 'I'm still here. I'm still thinking of you.' Sometimes it was rolls of parchment telling him about every part of her day – every struggle – every thought in her head. Sometimes it was just a single line… "Do you remember me? I once meant everything to you."

* * *

If readers have questions beyond what I've answered here, feel free to message me or leave them in a review. I will do my best to get back to anyone who writes to me. Thank you again for reading.


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